


The Russian Job

by mgcat20



Series: This might just work [1]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Eliot POV, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:38:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2765066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mgcat20/pseuds/mgcat20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate Ford's team runs across another team pulling a job. A man dies, Eliot's accused of murder, Nate decides to steal a job, shit gets complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First in a series of three. Starts just before the end of Season 5 and ends after Season 5.
> 
> Mad props to 3daysout / kissander for the beta. And the next beta. And the beta after that...

Eliot dropped the padded envelope into the passenger seat of the car and shut the door. As promised, it had been left unlocked, exactly where it was supposed to be. He was glad to be done with this job. He was only doing it as a favor to a ... friend ... but something about it left a bad taste in his mouth. A simple courier job. Why him? His friend had been scant on details. Not that he could blame him. If it’d been him, he wouldn’t have told the courier crap, either. It just wasn’t a position he found himself in often. Not these days.

But whatever, the job was done, time to head back to the office. They’d just finished a con and it was time for some relaxin’ with the crew, the game, and a few brews. 

\- - - - -

He saw the blonde sitting on the stoop, sipping a steaming coffee, and reading a dog-eared paperback. Early for people to be around the bar. And he hadn’t seen her ‘round before. He momentarily considered stopping and chatting, just to feel her out. The stairs to the bar seemed an odd place for someone to be hanging out, especially when that person was steadfastly ignoring him. Even if they were of the attractive sort. He did have the weekend free... Of course, it was entirely possible she was ignoring him because she was enjoying her solitude. In which case, he didn’t want to be the asshole to break it. It always bugged him when people did that to him. Or maybe it was just that Hardison was the one usually doing it. Whatever. The blonde cast an annoyed look up at him and pursed her lips, then determinedly went back to her book. Right. Solitude. He passed her on the stairs without a word.

He crossed the sidewalk to Bridgeport Brewery’s front door and let himself in, locking the door behind him. The bar wasn’t open yet, but Nate had unlocked the door for him. He made his way to the back and Nate’s apartment. And Sophie’s, now, he guessed. No one had said anything about it, but they’d all noticed when Sophie stopped going home after a job and had started treating the apartment behind the brewery as her own. 

Eliot smiled to himself. Didn’t bug him none. Sophie had gotten Nate to straighten his act out, or at least keep himself under control. He was still drinking, but not quite to the excess he had been. It was a welcome change. It’d been rocky there for awhile and he’d worried it might tear the team apart. He and Hardison had had more than one conversation about it.

He nodded a greeting to Hardison and Parker and went to snag some beer from the fridge. And found it, once again, stocked with orange soda. "Dammit, Hardison! Quit taking over the fridge!" Hardison waved the back of his hand at him. He rooted around, pushing soda bottles out of the way until he finally uncovered the six pack he’d left there the day before. Grumbling, he grabbed one and went to join the rest of the team in the briefing room, settling into an armchair.

"Twenty on the ‘Hawks."

"You’re on."

He smirked and settled back to enjoy the game, and taking Hardison’s money.

\- - - - -

"Hey man, something just triggered the alarm at your place." Hardison didn't look up as he opened the program that monitored security at all of their homes. "Motion sensors... video…". Hardison muttered under his breath, the rest of the room temporarily forgotten.

"Dammit, Hardison!" Eliot snapped, impatient. Probably just the neighbor’s dog digging under the fence, again, but who knew.

Hardison twitched and looked up. "Chill, man! I'm sending it to the monitors now. There’s about a minute delay. If someone had let me put in the cables I wanted-" Eliot growled, cutting him off. 

Two video feeds appeared on the monitor bank, showing the front and rear of Eliot's property. The video showed a man walking at a leisurely pace, seemingly absorbed in the smartphone in his hand. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, the hood pulled up against the crisp fall air, sunglasses obscuring most of the rest of his face. All that could be seen was that he had a dark complexion and dark hair.

He leaned forward on the glass top of the island, inspecting the man on the video feed. "Don’t recognize him."

Hardison held up a finger. "Oh, but there's more."

Ten seconds passed, then there was movement on the second video. A woman wearing jeans and a leather jacket. Short, blonde hair peaked out from under her baseball cap and sunglasses covered her eyes. The woman from the stoop. Dammit, he should have stopped. She vaulted easily over the fence into Eliot's backyard and sauntered casually up to the back of the house. They temporarily lost sight of her as Hardison pulled up another video feed, this one with a clear view of the back door and windows. The woman walked casually down the line of the house, barely looking at the windows, before walking past the garage and out to the street, where she turned in the opposite direction of the man.

The video stopped. "Probably didn't even know they triggered the alarm," Hardison boasted.

"Whatever. Can you ID ‘em?"

Hardison shook his head, looking annoyed. "No. Either they're not in the databases or the video didn't get a good enough look at their faces. They were prepared for surveillance."

"Well, either they were just casing the joint or they saw the security system and decided not to risk it." He paused. He felt like he was missing something. "Keep an eye out for ‘em. I saw the woman outside the brewery this morning. No reason they should be nosin’ around my place, too, unless--"

"Unless they knew it was yours."

"Yeah. So watch for ‘em."

"As if you needed to ask." 

"I didn’t." 

He smirked at Hardison’s glare and turned back to the game. Nothin’ he could about it now, might as well enjoy his peace before the shit hit the fan.


	2. Chapter 2

"I've got a tail."

Parker looked up interestedly, but seeing no new appendage, frowned and looked back down at the schematics spread out in front of her.

"Positive?", Hardison asked. Eliot glared in response.

"Alright, alright, just askin’." Hardison pulled up the brewery security cameras, "Who?"

Eliot pointed at a couple just pulling up chairs at a table. "Those two." The woman, again. She was wearing jeans and a leather jacket over a green t-shirt with a solid pair of boots. The man was more formally attired, a well-cut business suit, white shirt, no tie. He might be the same man from the surveillance video, but he couldn’t be sure.

Hardison paused a moment. "Still no hits in the database, which just isn't right. Something should be showing up."

"Keep searching," Nate said, as he entered the room, clattering down the stairs from his room. "Same two from the security feed yesterday?"

Eliot nodded, studying the video.

"Well, then, let's go see what they want."

\-----

He honed in on them as soon as they entered the bar. He would’ve gone straight to ‘em, but Nate’s hand on his arm restrained him. 

"A minute."

He waited more or less patiently while Nate studied them. The woman, at least, had been trailing him for days, but the two seated at the table didn’t seem to be scanning the room and hadn’t spotted them yet. Sloppy, which didn’t square with what he’d seen on the surveillance video. They’d been the height of professionals then. Had they meant to be caught? Were they luring him and Nate into a trap? He did another scan of the bar. No one he could spot, which probably meant there was no one there. So, they were alone and wanting to be spotted. Which meant they probably just wanted to talk. It was too public for a takedown and they’d be idiots to try it on his home turf.

Nate made a small motion and they started for the couple again. Though, that wasn’t quite right. They didn’t have the right vibe for a couple, for all that the man reached across the table and patted the woman’s hand. Then his eyes found them and he withdrew his hand, watching them come closer. 

The man smiled and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap, legs crossed and head tilted inquisitively. He was the picture of relaxed nonchalance. The woman leaned forward on her elbows, her chin in her hand, looking at the man rather than him and Nate. It was a curious position. Judging by their body language, she was the muscle, though the man looked moderately capable. And she was aware they were approaching. But she didn’t turn to watch them until they were well within striking distance. It indicated a great deal of trust in her partner. Or ignorance.

Her eyes swept over both of them, though they lingered longer on Eliot. He saw the recognition on her face, but he couldn’t place her. Not that that was a surprise. He’d accrued more enemies, and more of a reputation, than he could keep track of. He filed the thought away for future perusal. He could figure out who she was later, right now, he needed to focus on the present.

Nate snagged a chair from a nearby table and twirled it around to face the pair, taking a seat. Eliot remained standing between the woman and Nate, arms crossed and glaring. The woman smirked. He narrowed his eyes and felt his jaw clench. She was definitely trying to get under his skin. And getting close to doing it. He watched her amusement grow as she noted his reaction and fought down his annoyance to cold professionalism. 

The man rolled his eyes and sighed. "Could you at least try not to provoke him?"

The woman reigned in her expression to a small smile and shrugged. Nate was watching with an inquisitive look, while Eliot just continued his stare, focused on the woman, the obvious threat.

The man addressed Nate, "I apologize for my friend, she's somewhat lacking in social graces."

"Mm, yes, it is in somewhat short supply in their type, isn't it?", acknowledging that he knew what, if not who, the woman was. Her smile grew into an outright grin. Eliot flicked his eyes at Nate. He would pay for that remark later. "Anyway," Nate continued, "what exactly brings you to our brewery?"

"To enjoy the delightful brews, of course." At Nate’s flat look, the man smiled and continued. "No? Well, then. We were told you might have certain...information... pertaining to a recently deceased associate of ours." The man had lost his smile, his eyes were hooded, and both were watching him and Nate closely. Well, they wouldn’t learn much. He and Nate were better than that.

"I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're talking about. ... And it doesn't explain your little fly-by earlier." Eliot caught the woman’s twitch. She hadn’t known they’d been watched. Did it matter to their plan? Either way, it was a point for Hardison. Dammit, he was going to gloat about that. He watched her focus on him and saw her shift weight slightly, her muscles more tense than just a moment ago. She was going to try something. Spencer shift his weight minutely and turned a hard look on her. The man was smiling and completely ignoring his... hired muscle? Bodyguard? 

"Well, you couldn't possibly expect us to fly in blind, could you? After all, Mr. Ford, you have quite a reputation among the local denizens. And Mr. Spencer, well, you have a reputation of your own."

Eliot couldn’t stop his flinch. So, they knew who he was, who Nate was. Did they know about the rest of the team?

Silence fell on the table.

Nate was the one to break it. "Perhaps if you could give us more information..." His voice trailed off suggestively.

"A man by the name of Adam DeVille recently fell out of a 20 story window to his death. The police ruled it a suicide. We are less certain of that."

"And this concerns you how?"

"He had information. Intended for us. Now someone else has it."

"Someone else meaning me." Nate made it a statement, not a question. The man gave a close-lipped smile and nodded once. "I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. I've never met Adam DeVille and I don't have any information pertaining to him. Or you. Now if that's all?"

The man’s eyes narrowed. "No knowledge at all?" Nate shook his head, looking interested, but still denying. He was trying to draw out more information. "Then perhaps you can tell me why Mr. Spencer here was at the scene of his death?"

He could feel Nate’s surprise. He barely suppressed his own. They had to be talking about that guy who jumped out a window during his "favor". Dammit, he was sure that hadn’t been connected to him. He’d never even gone past the front desk of that building. Had only been in the building for a minute, at the most. How was this all connected? 

"Perhaps we should take this discussion to a more private location."

Apparently, Nate was curious to find out, too.

\- - - - - -

Nate showed the two into the back room they used as a manager’s office and then raised a finger. "We'll join you in just one moment." The man raised an eyebrow, but nodded and turned to the table in the center of the room. Nate pulled the door closed and turned on him in the hall.

"You want to tell me what's going on, Eliot?"

Eliot met his eyes, his jaw tight and lips pressed in anger. "I didn't kill that guy."

Nate waited. Eliot sighed and closed his eyes, breaking eye contact, tilting his head back before answering Nate’s question.

"I was there, though. Repaying a favor. Picked up a drop from that building, an envelope, about the right size and weight for a thumb drive. Dropped it two blocks away. In an unlocked car. I was headed back here when the guy fell."

"No ID on the pick-up?"

He opened his eyes, but didn't meet Nate's gaze.  "No. Dead drop. My 'friend' needed me to get it out of the building and to his buyer. No idea who the buyer was."

"Your friend won't cough up a name?"

Eliot finally met his eyes, giving him a flat, disbelieving look. Really?

"What about the license plate on the car?"

"Rental. Highly unlikely it was under a real name."

"Right," Nate sighed. "No leads, then. Guess we’ll have to talk to our new friends."

\- - - - - -

The woman was standing next to the man, who was seated, looking relaxed. The woman, less so. Her arms relaxed at her side, feet shoulder-width apart, a fighting stance. She didn’t trust them. Couldn’t blame her, he wouldn’t either.

Of course, he and Nate weren’t too relaxed, either. He could see the tension in Nate’s shoulders and neck, even though he tried to hide it. It probably fooled the pair, but not him. His own tension was making itself known as a low throbbing headache at the base of his skull. He took a subtle, deep breath, trying to inconspicuously relax his muscles. He wasn’t expecting any trouble - he was pretty sure the two were getting what they wanted with this "private" discussion - but tense muscles would just slow him down. Relaxed readiness would give him the quickest response time. He’d trained it into himself over the years, so it wasn’t too difficult, but he was fairly sure the woman had seen his tenseness before he’d banished it. She might be more difficult in a fight than he thought.

Nate took a seat at the table and Spencer went to stand at his shoulder, mirroring the woman’s position intentionally. Nate looked back and forth between the two of them, eyebrows raised. "Really?"

The man just smiled and gave a small shrug. Eliot smothered his own answering smile. He knew to let the professionals handle themselves. Good. He wouldn’t have to worry about him getting in the way. He’d stay out of it and trust his muscle. 

Nate sighed, continuing,  "It appears that Eliot may have crossed paths with DeVille, but I can assure you, he had no part in his death." He really didn’t like Nate sharing the details, but he knew it was inevitable. Nate wanted more information. Sometimes the only way to get a little, was to give a little. 

Nate’s statement was met with a scoff from the woman and a quelling glance from the man.  "As my colleague so elegantly indicated, we have some doubts about that." Eliot struggled not to let his protest to that statement show. The woman’s concentration was solely on him. No telling how good she was at reading him. "But what's done is done. We just want the information."

"And I hate to have to tell you again, but we don't have it." The woman was getting frustrated. He could see it in the aborted movement of her shoulders. A reflexive gesture, quickly suppressed. 

The room fell silent and they all watched one another. 

Hardison came in over the earbud. "Hey, got somethin’. DeVille was talking to someone at the embassy. Don’t know who, but he put a couple calls through some pretty convoluted methods. Give me a bit more time and I can find out who."

Neither he nor Nate could respond, so they let the silence linger.

"Then what happened to it?"  Eliot was deeply uncomfortable with that question. It scratched at his professional pride that he didn’t have an answer. He was well past the days when he’d take any job, no questions asked. Damn the stupidity that’d gotten him into owing a favor in the first place.

Nate hadn’t answered yet and appeared to be inspecting the grain of the table. His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the tabletop. "It was passed on." He glanced up at the man. "No, we don't know the identities, but we're working on it." 

"Right, on it. So glad you decided to let me know." Hardison continued babbling over the comms, Eliot tuned him out. 

A tense silence fell again. The man leaned back in his chair, dissatisfaction on his face and lines of his body. He was inspecting them, reading them. A grifter. He had to be. Which meant they were probably a team.

"Crap." The woman, startled, glanced at her partner. "They're telling the truth." He rubbed his face, obviously disgruntled, seemingly disgusted.

"Tha- "

"Have l ever been wrong, Taylor?", his East coast accent slipped for a moment, the south creeping back in, along with anger and frustration. So they were hiding their true origins, and the man was damn good at it. Eliot hadn’t caught the southern accent until then. At least he had a name for the woman.

And she was glaring at him like it was all his fault. There was a heat in her eyes that he could relate to. Always sucked when a job went sideways. He watched her take a deep breath and force her muscles to relax, bringing herself back under control. The heat faded from her eyes and went cold again. She’d killed whatever emotion had risen at her partner’s statement and had her head back in the game. Yeah, she’d definitely be a hell of a fight.

"We're wasting our time, then. We'll be on our way."

"Wait." Nate held up a hand, stopping the man before he had half-risen from his chair. “My team has been doing some research." He must be counting on Hardison to dig something up. Not an unreasonable assumption. He’d deny it to his dying day, but Hardison was something of a mad genius when it came to ferreting out information Nate needed.

"A question first. Why exactly was DeVille in contact with our embassy in Liberia?"

The man paused but slowly settled back in his chair. Taylor looked annoyed at the question. She wasn’t as good as her partner at hiding her emotions. He could use that.

"He was in contact with our client." The man answered slowly, weighing his words. "Exchanging potentially damaging information."

"And who is your client?"

He just smiled and tented his fingers, unwilling to answer. Couldn’t blame ‘em for protecting their client. He’d do the same. Had done the same.

Nate answered with a sigh. "All right, how about you tell me what you're going to do with the information, and if I believe you, I'll tell you what my team has found."

The man hesitated, but answered. "The files on that drive could expose the misdeeds of several government contractors. Or be used to blacken the US government for political gain. Our client would prefer that the information be released publicly, but safely. Letting someone else do it may expose innocent people to danger."

"I’ve got a lock on the pick up team." Hardison, still at it. "They picked up the car. They’re headed out of the downtown area. I’ll let you know where they end up."

Nate looked thoughtful, but finally answered. "We're tracking the package and working on identifying the pick-up team now."

"They’re headed towards the airport." Crap, that wasn’t good.

"If you could share that information with us when you get it, we would be most appreciative." The man’s voice sounded cautious, but optimistic. Probably hoping he could still put his job back on course. 

"Leave us a number and we'll contact you when we know more."

The man nodded and slipped a plain, white business card out of his breast pocket and slid it across the table. It contained only a ten digit number, no name, title, or company listed. The area code was out of Arizona. "I can be reached at that number," and stood to leave.

"Excellent, Mr...."

"Che, no mister." He said with a small smile.

"Of course." Nate gestured and Eliot shifted out of the path between Taylor and the door. Che moved, making sure to keep his guard between himself and Eliot and Nate. So they’d been working together long enough to know how to move as a team. As Taylor passed Eliot, he saw the tension in her neck and shoulders, but she didn’t make an effort to keep him in her line of sight. Arrogance? Trust? Disdain? He wasn’t sure.

He watched them leave the brewery and split up, going in different directions.


	3. Chapter 3

"Well, Hardison, we have a name and a number for our mystery friends." Nate handed the business card over to Hardison. "Che and Taylor. See what you can pull up.''

"Right. In the meantime, l've got more info on the package." He pulled the presentation up on the monitor bank. "We've got Richard Foley, former Special Ops, currently contracted to the government of Syria. And Frank Henderson, also currently contracted to Syria, no background info, as of yet."

"He's former Israeli forces, Henderson is an alias. Try Yosef Mizrahi."

Hardison grumbled, "Would've been nice to know earlier, Eliot."

Eliot ignored his nattering. Like he’d had time to make the ID and pass the information on.

Alec muttered at his keyboard, mocking, "'Deal with it, Hardison.' 'Get us the information, Hardison.' Under-appreciated... see what you'd do without me..." his voice trailed off, still muttering under his breath. Eliot grinned. It was always a good day when he could rile Hardison.

"Ok, I've got a GPS ping on that number. Looks like he's wandering around downtown. Previous locations...", he trailed off. "There. The Nines Hotel." He pulled the hotel's info up on the monitors. "Room is hard to pinpoint and there is no "Che" listed in registry, but judging from the signal strength, interference-"

"Hardison!"

"-I'd guess top floor, facing the street."

"Heh. Good position for surveillance."

"Any info on him?"

"Not a whole heck of a lot. Someone did a pretty thorough wipe on him. He’s photobombed a couple of vacation pics in Florida, but nothing that tells us anything. Other than that he was in Florida and likes tequila."

"What about his partner?"

“Finally got a hit in the obits. She's in remarkably good shape for someone who supposedly died six years ago. Former military, did some time as an 'independent contractor’," the air quotes were obvious even without the accompanying gesture, "then fell off the grid after a mission gone bad in Russia. Declared dead shortly after that. Family in North Dakota, but doesn’t look like she’s been in contact with them since her ‘death’. Still no hits in Portland, but I should be able to track her now."

"Do it. Keep track of where they go and let me know when they regroup. Eliot, what else can you tell us about Foley and Mizrahi?"

"They're not the best, not the worst. Couriering data is pretty in-line for Mizrahi, he's mostly a hacker with some moves than a straight out fighter. Foley is more into the protection side of things. I wouldn't have any problems taking them down." Not a boast, just simple fact.

"Good. You have a location for them, Hardison?"

"Yeah. A motel near the airport. And tickets headed out tomorrow afternoon."

"Ok, so we'll have to move quick."

"We?", Eliot interrupted. He didn’t like where this was going.

"It seems right up our alley, doesn't it?"

"Except a team is already working it. And I doubt they would appreciate the help." Eliot repressed a wince, thinking of how the woman had looked at him. He had a feeling she knew of his reputation from... before. He was still wracking his brain though, trying to remember where he had run into her. Russia, maybe? Was he the cause of her job gone bad? Or Turkey? They’d thrown a lot of women at him, trying to get him off the scent. He grinned to himself at that memory. Or maybe it was that shit that’d gone down in Israel? Their female soldiers were brutal.

Hardison scoffed, "Whoever they've got hacking behind the scenes can't even get past my blocks to the traffic cams. They need our help."

Nate stared at Hardison. “There's a third member? Things that would have been helpful to know, Hardison.”

"And I just told you!"

"Dammit, Hardison!"

"Timely information would be appreciated, Hardison."

Hardison stared at his laptop and grumbled to himself.

Nate sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Well, let's go steal us a job."

\- - - - - -

Nate made the phone call, putting it on speaker so the whole team could hear.

"Che? This is Nate Ford."

"Ah, yes, we didn’t think we’d hear from you so soon." He’d dropped the east coast accent. Must have caught his slip and figured there wasn’t any point in hiding it now.

"Right, well, we came across some information we thought you should know. The two goons are on Syria's payroll. Former Spec Ops and Israeli Army. Not easy customers. I'm sending you the personnel files now." Nate waved a hand at Hardison. He nodded and typed quickly on his laptop. Nodded a moment later. Nate continued, "They're staying at the airport Ramada and have flights out tomorrow."

"Yes, my associate is out scouting them now. ... You didn't happen to see them making any stops or picking up passengers, did you?"

"No. You think there's more here." It wasn't a question.

"I’m afraid so. There’ve been a number of issues with this job." He could hear the frustration in Che’s voice. "They’ve killed someone they didn’t need to, dragged Spencer in as a mere courier," Eliot snorted at that. At least Che recognized he was being underutilized, "and now that they’ve picked up the package, they’re taking no precautions against being identified. No, something’s off here. Either they’ve already dropped the package, or there’s a reason they’re not afraid to get caught."

There was a faint mutter off phone, sounded like Che. Nate shot Hardison a look. Hardison shook his head. He couldn’t pull out the conversation from the background noise. Then he flashed up a hand and splashed a still frame from a traffic up on the monitors, accompanied by a map. The video moved forward in small jerks, covering about a minute in 15 seconds.

"We've got something here." Nate, back on the line. "They stalled on Sandy Blvd. Pedestrian approached the vehicle, greeted them, then walked away. Working on getting his ID now." Nate motioned to Hardison, who didn’t see it, already buried in his laptop.

There was that faint murmur in the background again, but he ignored it. He was sure Hardison was recording the call. If it was something useful, Hardison would pull it out later. A driver’s license appeared on the monitor, along with a criminal background check. Nate continued his conversation.

"ID on the pedestrian. A local. Plenty of time to pass on the thumb drive. But no criminal background."

Che snorted. "That means little to nothing."

"True. My guess is that they made the pass and the 'local' is a cover. See what else you can find, Hardison." Was Nate aware he’d just blown Hardison’s anonymity? The other team might know they had more members, but no need to completely screw their advantage. Nate saw his frown and waved his concerned look away. Okay, so he’d meant to do it. Why? He hated it when Nate started getting all mysterious. It inevitably caused him more work. 

Again with the murmur in the background. It was starting to annoy him. It lasted longer this time and he shot Hardison a look. Surely, he could pull something out of that? Hardison held up a hand and slipped on headphones, then played with his keyboard. Suddenly, he smirked, then almost started laughing. What the hell? Grinning, Hardison just shook his head at him and mouthed, "Later". Fine. Later. People not filling him in on shit was getting annoying.

Che came back on the line "Why don't we discuss this over dinner?" What? Did he want to go to the prom, too?

"Certainly. We’ll expect the three of you at, say, 6?" Nate, letting them know they knew about their hacker, behind the scenes.

"Of course, see you then." Che didn’t sound surprised. The line went dead.

Eliot looked at Hardison. "What are you grinnin’ at?"

There was laughter in his voice when he replied, "They were having a convo off comms. They called us the A-team." 

Now that was funny. He laughed along with Hardison.


	4. Chapter 4

At quarter till six, Eliot slipped down to the brewery to wait for their guests, leaning casually against the door to the office. They might be a little jumpy and he wanted to make sure any second guessing happened where he could control it and the team wouldn’t be endangered. The smells from the kitchen reminded him that he hadn’t eaten yet. And he was supposed to cook for eight of them. He was still pondering his options. 

At six o'clock on the dot, they entered, Taylor first. She stepped to the side, clearing the door and scanning the room. A distinctively military move. Two men entered after her, Che, and a man he didn’t know. Must be the hacker. Hardison had said his name was Lawrence. He knew the moment Taylor saw him. A flicker of unease crossed her features before she led the way towards him. 

Eliot opened the door and waved a hand to usher them through. Taylor stepped to the side, letting her teammates pass, putting herself between them and him. She was acting more like a bodyguard than hired muscle. But the blank face she turned on him marked her as a professional, regardless of her specialty. He met her gaze but didn't respond beyond that. She followed her team through the door, her body language tense and unhappy. He followed her, leaving a good amount of space between them. He couldn’t pinpoint what was bugging him about her, but there was something in her movements that made him think he needed to be on guard. And he wasn’t real happy with himself for dismissing her as a threat when she’d been on the stoop. That’d been sloppy.

As they entered Nate’s apartment, Eliot moved around Taylor to stand with Nate at the island. She stayed near the door, keeping an exit clear. Smart move. He’d have done the same. Nate stepped towards them, studying them, and pinned the newcomer as the leader. He offered his hand to Lawrence, "Nate Ford."

"Lawrence Gale. l believe you've already met my associates, Che and Taylor." Lawrence had a slight British accent, like he’d been too long from home and it was fading. Was there a reason he couldn’t return?

Che offered his hand to Nate, gripping it with both hands. "I'm glad we could meet again under more pleasant circumstances." Nate nodded his agreement. Che looked remarkably unperturbed by the change in those circumstances. Of course, if he was as good a grifter as Sophie, he was only showing what he wanted them to see.

Taylor was standing far enough away that Nate would have to travel to her to shake her hand. Her arms were crossed and her face was blank, not encouraging him. But she nodded. Almost politely. He cracked a smile at that. Nate took the hint and stayed where he was, not pressing her. 

"Yes, well, let me introduce my team. Eliot, you've already met. This is Parker, Sophie, and Hardison." There were polite nods all around and murmured greetings. Eliot didn’t bother, just kept staring at Taylor, distracted. His brain was flipping through possibilities. Where the hell had he met her? And he was convinced, now, that he had. If he could just make the connection... Taylor met his gaze and he saw her tensing as she recognized his attention. He shifted his weight, prepared to meet her, if she was stupid enough to start something. 

"Whoa, there." Nate stepped between them, hands raised placatingly. “Eliot, it's not polite to stare. Ms. Taylor, if you would please indulge me…"

"Just Taylor." She paused, but acquiesced, shifting until she was facing the monitors, rather than him. Eliot didn’t relax, even under Nate’s glare. She was a danger, this one. 

"I apologize. Taylor's not entirely convinced that working jointly is a good idea. She has promised, though, to be on her best behavior." That last was accompanied by a glare. Taylor didn’t look like she agreed with Lawrence’s statement, but didn’t say anything.

"Alright, then." Nate clapped his hands. "Hardison, bring us up to speed." Che and Lawrence found seats along the wall. Taylor opted to keep on her feet, between them and Spencer. Well, she could be as paranoid as she wanted. He didn’t think she was going to turn on them unless he threatened, Lawrence seemed to have her in check, so he took a seat at the island and watched Taylor ponder his choice. She really was not good at hiding her emotions.

"Alright, so, here's the deal." Hardison was taking obvious relish in his presentation. "Mr. Local-Upstanding-Citizen has a cover deep enough to fool most government agencies. But not me." Eliot snorted as Hardison buffed his nails on his shirt. Hardison sniffed and ignored him, continuing his brief. "No ties to Syria or our two fine fellows, but his real identity, Vitaly Ardeyev, has ties to the Russian mafia, human traffickers in Eastern Europe, and drug manufacturers in Afghanistan." It didn’t surprise Eliot that Hardison had already dug up so much info. He sometimes wondered if Hardison didn’t have the internet beamed directly into his brain.

"My bet's on the Russians," Lawrence interjected. "The Afghanis shouldn't want to poke this particular hill with a stick right now, and the Eastern Europeans are mostly allies. Damaging the US wouldn't help them any."

"Agreed. So we need to catch Ardeyev before he meets with the Russian locals to pass on the data."

"Uh, we might be too late."

Every head in the room turned to look at Hardison.

He tapped a few keys and a grainy, black and white video appeared on the monitors. It showed Ardeyev casually talking to a man on a street corner while they waited for the light to change. When it did, they shook hands and parted ways. It was a clumsy pass, bare to any professional thief, but effective nonetheless. The time stamp on the video put it at a few hours earlier.

"Shit." Taylor didn’t look like she knew she’d said that out loud until she heard it in her own ears.

Eliot grunted. It was as good an assessment as any. Lawrence nodded his agreement.

"That about sums it up. Hardison, you know what to do."

"On it." And was immediately buried in his laptop.

"Everyone else, I suggest we take this time to eat. It appears this job will last longer than expected."

"Any good takeout in the area?" Interesting. Judging by the look on Che’s face, he shared Eliot’s opinion of takeout food. The look Che shot Taylor for making the suggestion was mocking. Taylor grinned in response. They were easy together. Did they have a history? Did they always work together?

"If you could point me in the direction of a decent grocer, I'm sure I could whip something up." Was Che a cook? He couldn’t be that bad, then…

"No need, Kitchen is fully stocked, so is the brewery, if ya need it. C 'mon, I'll show ya ‘round." Eliot got up and showed Che into the kitchen. Che made himself at home, examining the contents of the fridge and pantry. 

"Pasta okay?” He grunted. Whatever.

He could hear Sophie talking to Taylor in the background and assigned a portion of his brain to tracking their conversation while he helped Che pull pots and pans out.

"So, you're a hitter, like our Eliot?" Sophie, diggin’ around.

"I'm nothing like Spencer." Taylor’s voice sounded cold and uninviting. Oh, good, she had an opinion. Sophie had her work cut out for her. Sophie’s next question was below his hearing. She’d probably done it purposefully, which meant she was probably talking about him. Grifters.

He tossed Che a block of mozzarella and fished the grater out of the cupboard.

'... So, do you have a family?" Sophie’s voice returned to normal levels.

"No, no family." He spared a glance over at Taylor as she replied. She looked uncomfortable. Not the socializing sort, then. And not willing to reveal that she did, in fact, have family. He reached over and handed Che the oregano. The smaller man nodded his thanks. Eliot turned his attention back to Sophie’s conversation while pulling the fixings for a salad out of the fridge. Che grunted and nodded his approval. Eliot repressed a snort. Too many chefs. He set to chopping vegetables, conveniently facing the briefing room.

"Yes, not too many of us do, do we? At least, not outside of the business." What was Sophie getting at? They already knew Taylor had a family. Diggin’ for info on the team?

He traded small talk with Che while he worked, trying to keep track of both conversations. He missed something between Sophie and Taylor while telling Che about the local farmer’s market down the road, but reverted his attention when Sophie’s voice raised.

"Oh, quite all right, dear! I completely understand. Don't blame you a bit. Nate can be a bit pushy and goodness knows it was an adjustment working with him in the beginning." He snorted to himself at that. "But you seem to get on quite okay with Lawrence?"

Taylor’s laugh drew the attention of everyone in the room but she ignored the looks and continued her conversation with Sophie. "I'm only working with Lawrence in the short-term. Otherwise,  I'm sure we'd kill each other." Che snorted and Taylor cast an amused look in his direction. "No, Lawrence and I tolerate each other for the sake of the job and not much else." Maybe he shouldn’t trust so much in Lawrence’s ability to restrain her.

"So you and Che are closer, then?"

"We're friends outside of the job, if that's what you mean, but we don't normally work together. Different circles."

Che had gotten whatever sauce he was making simmering. Looked like a simple alfredo and cheese mix. Would it be rude to lean over and taste it? Probably. He thought about doing it anyway.

"Perhaps you'd care for a drink?" 

"Yes, please. Scotch, if you a have it."

Sophie went to fetch drinks from the bar, casting a glance at Eliot that clearly said, watch her. As soon as Sophie had left, Taylor got up and started a slow circuit of the room, pausing at the windows that overlooked the front of the bar. Eliot kept an eye on her as he scraped the vegetables he’d chopped into a large bowl, then started washing the lettuce.

Sophie came back in, drink in hand. She met Taylor in front of the kitchen island. Taylor looked awkward. He focused momentarily on pulling apart the lettuce and making sure it was thoroughly washed. It was from his own garden. He didn’t use pesticides, but nothing good would come of serving dirt with dinner. He looked up, catching Taylor’s eye. He paused a moment. If they were going to work together, which seemed like where Nate was headed, he should try to put her somewhat at ease. For the good of the job, and the team.

"Dinner will be ready in 10." She nodded and he turned away, pulling dressing out of the fridge. He saw Che smirk and mime clapping at Taylor. He was sure that went over well with Taylor, but didn’t turn to see. Nate and Lawrence trickled in from the bar; Sophie had probably put a bug in their ear. Hardison hadn’t budged from his laptop and seemed oblivious to the world until Nate spoke.

"Anything, Hardison?"

"Yeah, just let me put it together." He sounded distracted, like he was only half listening. He was deep in it.

"Okay, we can review it while we eat. Speaking of, you two about done back there?"

"A few more minutes", he growled. What’d they expect? A full meal for eight in minutes? 

The room settled into silence, Sophie and Nate staring at each other, apparently able to pass telepathic messages, Lawrence playing with his phone, and Taylor cradling her drink.

He put the last touches on the salad as Che transferred the pasta and sauce into a serving bowl. He caught Che’s eye and the man smiled at him, nodding that he was finished. He nodded in return, sliding the salad bowl onto the counter.

"Dinner is served! Buffet style, mis amigos, help yourself." He took a moment to try and place Che’s accent but couldn’t quite nail it. Latin America, but not Mexico. Beliz, maybe? Sophie could probably ID it. He made a mental note to ask her later. 

Nate gestured for Taylor and Lawrence to go first. Taylor looked like she might protest for a moment, but thought better of it and followed Lawrence into the kitchen. 

They all filed through and settled themselves back in the briefing room. Hardison pulled up a presentation on the monitors and spoke around bites of food. Damn, what had Che put in this? He thought he’d seen everything that went in, but he was detecting a hint of... rosemary? When had he added that? Either way, it was good.

"Okay, dude made the hand off to this guy, Victor Gurko- Gurkovic- dude with too many consonants in his last name. Anyway, he's not important, other than that he's definitely a Russian mob thug. With a ticket for a plane that leaves in less than an hour. Guy's gotta already be at the airport. Hell, he's probably on the plane. And before you open your mouth, Nate,” Nate closed his mouth, "no, I can't hack the tower, not without direct, physical access. I am capable of many miracles, large and small, but stopping that plane ain't gonna be one of them". He paused to inhale more food while everyone digested that morsel.

"So where's he headed, Hardison? And don't you dare say Russia," Eliot growled. He must have surprised Taylor, judging by the startled look she shot him. 

"...not... Russia?"

"Dammit, Hardison!"

"Look! No worries! I've got us all tickets on the first flight out tomorrow morning, passports and covers already in place. Lawrence, I hooked up your crew, too. Figured you'd want to be in on the fun." Said with a cocky grin and apparent immunity to the glare Eliot was sending his way.

"Thank you, Hardison, much appreciated."

Eliot had to be the one to throw on the brakes. "Wait, wait, wait. You know as soon as we get there, I'm gonna be made. The Russians know me, know my face. No way am I going to be able to slip past 'em." If by "knew him”, he meant had either "worked with" or "tried to kill" over the past several years. He was a well known man in Russia. Especially after Belgrade. He suppressed a wince at that thought. 

"Spencer's not the only one." Taylor’s lips tightened and she shot a glance at Lawrence. "I am ... acquainted .... with the Russians, as well. They'll ID me as soon as I get off the plane." She flashed a look at him. Russia...Russia...Russia... where in Russia? Where had she run across him? It was definitely before his current gig with Nate. Maybe while he was still working with Moreau. That would explain a lot about her attitude towards him. Especially since he’d been keeping a low profile since working with Nate. He’d been trying to keep his old enemies away from the team. It might be doing him a disservice now if Taylor thought he was still operating under his old MO. He might need to work to change that impression, if they all ended up working together. 

"Too easy. We just won't hide your presence. You'll be a decoy for the rest of us. They'll be so busy watching you two, the rest of us will just slip by."

Nate sounded confident, but Taylor spoke up again. "They'll never fall for it." She suddenly became very interested in the pattern of bricks on the opposite wall. 

"And why's that?"

"Because, the last time they saw me, I had pulled a survivor from a massacre and spent six months nursing her back to health. And it's well-known that I made a promise to help her kill Eliot Spencer."

The silence was deafening.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Ah. So that was where she'd crossed him. Interesting.  He really thought his team had wiped out that town to the last man, woman, and child. Courtesy of Damien Moreau.  The survivor must have had a hell of a hiding place. He was aware that all eyes were on him. Except Taylor. She was regarding the far wall like it held all the answers to every question ever asked. She was slouched forward while somehow looking incredibly tense and uncomfortable, every line of her body proclaiming how much she didn't want to have this conversation.

“So, why haven't you?" He asked the question anyway, no matter her feelings. He had earned that death. God knew, he had earned it many times over. At one point, it would have been a relief. Certain days, it still would be.

She turned her head and met his eyes. Flat and purposefully blank. He knew that look, knew it all too well.

"My friend wanted to do it on her own terms. She's been biding her time, waiting for you to return to Russia." Her voice was low and rough, but as devoid of emotion as her eyes. He glanced at the rest of her team; Che was obviously tense and prepared for action, whether to go at him or Taylor he didn't know; Lawrence was relaxed, seemingly unconcerned, still eating even. Was that good or bad?  If he was anything like Nate, he probably already knew the outcome. Or trusted his team. Crap, he didn't know.

Nate spoke up, he voice quiet and serious. "Will this be a problem?"

Taylor stared at Nate. Everyone else in the room, except Lawrence, stared at her. Tense moments passed. Eliot could see the decision in her body when she made it, muscles easing and her face relaxing.

"No," her voice had lost the flat affect, but was still low and rough, "for now." She was looking at him, and he nodded in acknowledgement. They could put this on the back burner, until this job was over. Then they could settle the debts between them. Taylor eased back into her chair. The nervousness and tenseness she'd been displaying all night were gone, now that she was no longer conflicted. He could respect that. The job came first, emotions came a very distant second, if ever at all.

"Oookay, now that we've got that settled, too easy. I can just put Taylor on a different flight, after ours. She's tracking Eliot, perfect."

Nate nodded. "That'll work." He looked to him. Eliot nodded once. Nate wouldn't ask about what had gone down. He knew well enough, if not the particulars. And he could count on him to run interference with the rest of the team. They could deal with the rest of it after the job. It might cause some problems, but he knew his team now. He could count on them.

"What are we looking at in Russia?"

"Well, our guy is flying into Irkutsk, an industrial town in Siberia that also serves as high society for politicians and wealthy personages exiled from Russia proper. Used to be called the 'Paris of Siberia'. Lame ass comparison, if you ask me. It's a main highway for goods imported from China, legal and illegal. We're talking major money. Makes sense for the Russian mob to have an outpost there. Keep in contact with exiled cronies and keep an eye on the goods coming through, probably taking their own cut. Landscape-wise, we're looking at lots of hills and a couple rivers, with a dam thrown in for good measure. Luckily, this time of year, the temps are pretty reasonable, about the same as Portland but with less rain. Enough people coming in that we shouldn't raise any eyebrows posing as businessmen."

"Thank god," he heard Taylor mutter at the rain report. He smirked. She sounded like Sophie with that one. Personally, he kind of liked the constant rain of Portland. It was soothing, and kept him from having to water his garden.

"Where our guy is actually going in Irkutsk, well, that we'll have to figure out when we get there."

"Alright then, on to other problems. Do you have enough comms for everybody?" Hardison shook his head.

"'Fraid not. We went through a lot on that last mission." He glared at Eliot.

"What do you want me to do? Damn things keep falling out in a fight. And they're not waterproof."

"I might be able to help on that front," Lawrence chimed in. "I've got about a dozen of my own design at the hotel. Backups. They should sync with your system readily enough. And mine are waterproof." That last was directed to him. He grunted. He really hoped he wouldn't have to test that feature, but Hardison had mentioned rivers in his brief. Knowing his luck, he'd be taking a swim. Maybe Hardison could pick up a few design improvements.

"Okay, comms covered. Tickets purchased. Plan in place. Anything else?"

Lawrence stood up. "No, I think that covers it. We'll see you at the airport tomorrow morning then."

"Yes. We'll bring tickets and passports, and you bring the comms."

"Agreed. Till then."

Lawrence's crew filed out, no doubt headed back to their hotel to go over what they'd learned tonight. Eliot didn't watch them leave, instead going around and picking up plates and glasses left on various flat surfaces. He was aware no one was talking, and that they were, in fact, all watching him. He headed to the kitchen, ignoring them, and heard Nate pick up the conversation.

"Alright, anyone learn anything new?"

"Taylor hates small talk. And hates personal questions even more. Rarely works with Lawrence, but there's some previous history between her and Che. No romance, just friends. Can't act worth a bit, but probably a pretty good thief. She saw the sloppy hand off and was properly disdainful of it."

"Che is mostly a grifter, and a good one, but sometimes fills in as backup muscle. Capable, but just average. Works with teams on occasion. Wouldn't talk about his personal life."

"Alright. Well, Lawrence almost always works with a team as operations control, but usually ad hoc. Doesn't like to create patterns, probably hiding a family connection. Hacks better than your average computer criminal, but is better with hardware. ... All in all, then, nothing that sets off any alarms? Well, minus Taylor's little reveal."

They all shook their heads. Nate clapped his hands. "Alright, then. I suggest we all pack and get some sleep. Our flights leaves early."


	5. Chapter 5

None of them acknowledged each other. Lawrence and Hardison made a hand off on the passports and comm units. The only person missing was Taylor; she would arrive later for her flight, maintaining the illusion that she was chasing Eliot. At least, he hoped it was an illusion. Otherwise, this was going to be one hell of a job.

They boarded the flight separately, scattered throughout the cabin. Sophie and Che in first class, posing as business partners. Lawrence and Nate mixed in the front. Eliot in an exit row. Parker and Hardison posing as a couple, seated somewhere behind him. There wasn't going to be much he could do until they were in Irkutsk. It was going to be a long flight, and Hardison was already muttering in his ear about leg room. He slipped out his earbud and shut his eyes. Might as well get some sleep while he could. Or at least pretend to, while he thought about the problem that was Taylor. This could all go wrong so very easily. There would be plenty of opportunities for her to betray him, to put the team at risk. He’d have to be vigilant. He knew Nate was aware of the potential issues, but Hardison and Parker seemed oblivious to it all. 

Or maybe trusted him to take care of it. 

Okay, contingency plans, he could do. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need them, but better to be prepared than have things go wrong and be six feet deep in it without a plan. He tried to avoid that whenever possible, especially when he was with teammates. He could handle himself, but he wouldn’t allow anything to endanger them. 

\- - -

He waited impatiently for Taylor to check in. He was sure he hadn’t been made getting to the hotel from the airport, but for all he knew, the entire country knew Taylor. She should’ve checked in by now. The worst possible case scenarios ran through his mind. She’d decided to betray them. She’d missed the plane. She’d been taken and was about to spill the beans on everything. 

Hardison was babbling about radio frequencies and tracking devices.

"Dammit, Hardison, shut up! She should be off the plane by now. Where is she?" His thoughts flashed to the only possibility he could affect. "If they've made her, we need to know now. A rescue op is going to take some time with these goons." 

Hardison argued back with him. "If they've got her, they haven't taken her comms. I've still got a ping on her loc-"

"Can a lady get a word in edgewise?"

He growled.

"'Bout time." Hardison glared at him. Che looked up from where he was sitting, reading a local paper.

"Amiga, good to hear from you. We were worried you'd decided not to join the party. "

"Nah, man. Just making sure I wasn't tailed before I linked up."

"So nothing suspicious, Taylor?"

"Yes, Lawrence, I've just been holding off till the right moment to tell you." Eliot smothered a smile. The annoyance in her voice said exactly how much she disliked Lawrence. But no point rubbing Lawrence’s face in it.

Thankfully, Nate broke in. "We're working out of the Baikal Business Center Hotel. It's near the airport."

"Yeah, I know where it is." She paused, and he could hear indistinct noise in the background. She must still be in the airport. "It'll take me a few hours to get there. I want to make contact with an old friend first. I'll be able to find out if Eliot was seen arriving and if the mob knows yet." Heh, so he was "Eliot" now. Maybe that long ass flight had done some good. But that didn’t make him feel any better about her going out and contacting someone from her past. It’d be a great time for her to set them up. She had contacts here, after all. He frowned at Nate, encouraging him to speak up. Nate saw his look and tilted his head to side, hesitating before he spoke. 

"If you think you can do it without giving the game away." He barely stopped his growl. That was not what he’d meant.

Che stepped into the silence. “Ty will be fine. This isn't her first rodeo. Watch your six, amiga.” He made a soothing gesture towards him and Nate. 

"Will do. I'll check back in after I've made contact." She fell off the line, but her earbud was still on. 

Hardison palmed his earbud. "I can still track her," Hardison said quietly, with a covert glance at Che. He wasn’t sure how Che would take Hardison tracking her, but he knew how he felt about it. 

He slipped his earbud out, nodded at Hardison, and said just as quietly, "Do it."

He spent the next several hours watching over Hardison’s shoulder as Taylor wandered around the city. She paused here and there, but he couldn’t find a pattern in her movements. What the hell was she up to? He kept his hands busy, sharpening his knives.

"We’re headed out for food." Che startled him with his sudden words in the silence that had been hanging as they’d all taken care of their own business. "I don’t think there’s much we can make here, so I’m going to scout out some local restaurants."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful. Let me come with you." Sophie was snagging her purse as Che smiled in agreement. He looked like he really wouldn’t mind the company. Nate glanced up at them but didn’t say anything, just turned back to his own laptop. Che ushered Sophie out the door and shut it gently behind them. Lawrence watched them go and then got up, headed for the bathroom.

"I think I’ll wash up before they get back."

Nate nodded, barely paying attention. Eliot got the feeling Lawrence had left on purpose. Well, he wasn’t above taking the opportunity he was granted.

Eliot turned to Hardison. "Any idea what the hell Taylor is up to?"

Hardison shook his head. "No, but she seems to have found whatever she was looking for."

"Looking for?"

Hardison gave him a disgusted look. "Yes, looking for. What do you think she was bouncing all around town for? I’d say she was looking for a specific someone, or specific info. And it took her a damned long time to find it."

He couldn’t disagree. Seen in that light, her jumps took on a more purposeful pattern. 

"Yeah, but who’s she looking for?"

Hardison tapped at his keyboard, pulling up a map and typing in an address. What popped up was a bandy field.

"Bandy? What the hell is that?"

Eliot grunted. "Like hockey, but with a ball and slightly different sticks."

"Then why not just call it hockey."

Eliot just grunted again. Something was nagging him about that particular field. He drew in a sharp breath, causing Hardison to shoot him a glance. 

"What?"

Eliot held up a hand, holding off his questions while he let the connections form. Hardison nursed the orange soda he’d picked up on the way to the hotel. How he’d managed to find that crap already, Eliot wasn’t sure. But that wasn’t the problem right now. He forced his mind back to the bandy field. What was it that was bugging him? He knew most of the sports teams in Russia were owned or owed loyalty to the mafia, in one form of another. But what was it about this particular bandy field in Irkutsk. He started running through names, hoping one of them would make the connection.

"Shit."

"What!" Hardison was losing what little patience he had.

"The Russian mob owns that bandy field."   
"So?" Hardison knew the deal just as well as he did. The mafia was embedded everywhere.

"Not just some guy low on the totem pole. An Avtoritet. A captain. In charge of Serbia. Vitoly Mogilevich."

"So she’s meeting with a mob boss?"

"Yeah. A mob boss known for his crack team of snipers."

"So, she... Oh, shit."

Nate stepped in. "We don’t know that for sure."

Eliot looked at him and thought carefully before answering. "No. But it could be. And Mogilevich is known to employ female snipers, some of the most dangerous in the world. And one of them fell off the radar about 6 years ago, for about six months.” He pursed his lips. “I didn’t make the connection before. No reason to. Takin’ her out wasn’t a part of that mission. Must’ve been collateral damage.” He gripped his hands. This was not a good turn of events.

“Who?”

“Amelia Sokolov. You have an impossible shot, you get her.”   
"Okay." Nate hesitated. "We still don’t know that that’s what Taylor’s doing. I think we should trust her on this one.”

Eliot glared at Nate, disbelieving. “Are you shitting me? Trust her? She’s already said she’s gunning for me, and now she’s gone to meet up with the fucking sniper that has it in for me!”

Nate held up his placatingly. “I know, I know. But trust me on this one. Lawrence, Che, and I had a bit of time to talk on the flight over."

Yeah, he’d seen them gathered up in first class when Sophie came back to check on him, Parker, and Hardison. He shrugged at Nate with a sharp movement of his shoulders. It didn’t change a damn thing.

"I don’t think we’ll need to worry about Taylor. At least, not while still on the job. Che is sure of that. Lawrence, well, he’s not always happy to work with her, but he trusts her to keep her word."

"And we’re just going to take their word for that?”

Nate responded slowly, “Yes.”

Eliot stood up, pissed as hell. Just like that? It’s all good because two people they didn’t fucking know said it was good?

“Eliot, calm down.”

Eliot glared at Nate, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“I’m not saying we’re not going to keep an eye on her, but we’re not going to make a move against her unless she gives us reason.”

Eliot turned away from him, shaking his head, and walked to the window to stare out of it. Giving a sniper a clear shot wasn’t much of a concern anymore, not if Taylor had clued in Amelia. No one on the team was safe. 

Nate continued, “Che and Lawrence trust her, and they’re not men to give trust easily. They both have past experience with her and they think she’s solid for the job. They said she’ll die before she breaks her word.” He paused. “After the job, well, that might be a different issue. But we’ll deal with it then."

Eliot sighed. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t happy about this. He didn’t trust her. But he did trust Nate. "Fine. But we’re still keeping tabs on her."

"Of course," like he’d expected nothing else and was surprised he’d suggested such.

Eliot rolled his eyes. 

"Well, hey, while we’ve been chattin’, she’s moving on. And taking her sweet time about it."

Nate went back to his laptop while he and Hardison kept watch over Taylor, both of them slipping their earbuds back in. The shower turned off and Lawrence cracked the door, letting steam billow into the suite’s living rom. Was that lavender? Really, man?

"She’s back online." 

"Taylor here."

"Welcome back," Lawrence replied. He’d must have had his earbud in while in the shower. Guess he wasn’t just making claims about them being waterproof. "Learn anything?"

"Yeah, I'll tell you about it when I get back. I'm only a few blocks away. I'll check for tails and head in."

"Roger."

Hardison kept watch over her. Eliot finally got up and pulled out his gear, sorting straps and putting his equipment in order.

"Heh, hope she knows Parker’s on the roof." Eliot glanced at Hardison. His earbud was in his hand. He must be talking about Taylor. Judging by the small smile on his face, he didn’t think she knew.

"Jesus, Parker, give a girl some warning!" Hardison laughed, rocking back on the sofa bed, softly clapping his hands. Eliot grinned. That would be a no.

Parker sounded confused. "I did. I put the room key in your pocket." Hardison laughed again and even Nate cracked a smile. Lawrence just looked at them like they were children acting up again.

They heard Taylor sigh. "Right. Well, l'm headed down to the room."

"Okay, I'll stay on watch. I like it up here better, anyway."

A few minutes later, Hardison had finally gotten himself under control and had put his earbud back in. There was a light knock before Taylor slipped in. She nodded a greeting to the four heads that swiveled in her direction.

"Che and Sophie went out for food," Lawrence offered at her quick head count.

"Ah. So they don't trust Hardison's taste in food, either. How the hell did you manage to find orange soda already?"

Eliot tried, and failed, to swallow a laugh. 

Hardison grumped. "Dammit, ya'll better be backing off my orange soda."

"Or what? You'll stop yammering in our ears?" Eliot shot back.

Taylor chuckled as they continued grousing at each other. She seemed in a much better mood. Because she thought her problems were solved? Or had the long trip over given her time to think? He let the well-worn routine of harassing Hardison continue, only giving it half a mind. 

Taylor was smiling as she took out her earbud and slipped it into her pocket. She seemed more comfortable than she had been in Portland. Had her ties in Russia reassured her?

Lawrence pointed Taylor to a piece of luggage. Her gear, no doubt. She rooted around in it, pulling out a collapsible asp, forearm sheaths with knives in them, and a brace of throwing knives. He was fairly sure she didn’t realize it but she sighed happily as she strapped them on, seemingly reassured by their weight. She turned back to the room to find him watching her. She froze. If she was anything like him, she was cursing herself for showing him where she kept all her weapons. But he was less concerned with knowing where she preferred her weapons - not that that wasn’t useful information, it was - but more in how she carried herself, both with and without weapons. She was more comfortable now that she was armed, but she’d just trekked all over Irkutsk with nothing but her body as a weapon. And judging by the small scrapes on her knuckles, she’d used it. Maybe she hadn’t been putting a hit on him. Maybe she’d been warning them off? If whomever she’d run into hadn’t wanted to give up the information, maybe she wasn’t on as good of terms with the Russians as he’d assumed. 

She was still looking like she’d just been busted for something. He’d been thinking too long.

"Hand-forged?" His question caught her by surprise. "Your forearm knives, they're hand-forged?"

“Yes.” He could see her debating whether or not to say more. "A gift from a friend."

"May I?" He held out a hand. She hesitated, but slid her left-hand knife free and flipped it to him underhanded. He caught it easily by the hilt and inspected it. The balance was as good as he had suspected it be. Cord-wrapped hilt, well-maintained edge. "Nice balance. You're not afraid of losing them and exposing your friend?" Could be a very real concern with custom weapons. And there was always the danger of crimes being linked because of a distinctive weapons mark.

"No, there's no maker marks. Common construction that makes it hard to trace."

"Nice. The throwing knives, too?"

"No, I go through too many. Generic, buy 'em by the dozen."

He chuckled, "Me, too," and hiked up his t-shirt just enough to show the hilts riding above his waistband. Same brand as her own. He didn’t usually carry them there, but he’d felt the need to be armed when she came back from her wanderings and wearing his getup was a bit too obvious of a point.

"Heh."

He tossed her knife back to her. "Never used forearm sheaths, though. Prefer a harness setup." He pointed to the jumble of leather straps and knives thrown over the arm of a chair. "More options."

She nodded, but twisted her left arm to show him the back of her forearm, and more to the point, the thick, hard layer of leather that covered her arm from elbow to wrist. Eliot grunted in understanding. The leather formed a shield against knives and padding against harder objects. He avoided it on principle - better to never let yourself rely on a shield in case you one day found yourself without it, reacted instinctively, and found yourself fucked by its lack - but to each his, or her, own.

Further discussion was interrupted by Che and Sophie entering, carrying bags of food. At least with Che going along, he could trust the food to be edible. Sophie had questionable ideas as to what was considered "good" food. Too many preservatives and unnecessary spices. Though she was dead on with wine. And chocolate. But not beer. Definitely not beer. He steered his thoughts clear of the one attempt she’d made at brewing. It had turned out worse than even Hardison’s attempt.

As everyone passed around the food, Nate spoke up, ''Alright, fill us in, Taylor."

Nate’s comment sparked a thought. Everyone had their earbuds in. Hardison and he had taken theirs out when discussing Taylor, but Nate hadn’t. Che and Lawrence had heard the entirety of Nate’s side of the conversation. He looked at Nate, who seemed intent on Taylor. He’d had to have done it on purpose. Why? To shown the new guys he trusted them? And was trying to get his team to, as well? What was his plan? 

Taylor started her report. "Miracle of miracles, the mafia doesn't know you're here. Or at least, they didn't. I can't guarantee my source's silence on the matter, though. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't leak it for at least a few days. She thinks the stakes are too high. But they knew I was in town and now they think they know why. I told my source that I was tracking Eliot and she bought it.”

Her source. At the bandy field. Amelia. It had to be. But was Taylor telling them the truth about their conversation?

“It should at least confuse things should word get out. And l checked, I wasn't tapped or tailed, but I'm supposed to check into the Sayen Hotel under an assumed name. It's owned and run by the mafia so I'm sure it'll be bugged and I'll be followed from there.”

"Well, is there any reason why you should check in there at all, then?" Sophie asked.

"Yeah, my source will be expecting to see me there. Not going would draw more attention than just doing it. I'll just have to be careful."

"What else?"

"I know where the data is. There's only one safe house in Irkutsk - a two-story monstrosity on the other side of town. My source tells me that members of the American branch of the mafia are staying there. It's gotta be our couriers."

“You've been there?" Eliot asked. "Know the layout?"

"Yeah, spent six months there." She didn't elaborate, but he could guess. Her previous stay in Russia. Six months nursing her friend. "I can get us in and out, too easy. The guards are going to be the hard part. I guarantee there'll be a larger contingent than normal."

"What about waiting till the thumb drive leaves?"

Taylor shook her head. "Security will be even worse. They'll have snipers," Eliot wondered if she had personal knowledge of that statement, "bulletproof rides, control of the traffic and the cops, who are all probably in bed with the mafia, anyway. No, the house will be easier to hit."

"Okay, well, I got more info on our data. Looks like there's going to be an auction tonight."

"Well, that scraps plans A-D. We don't have time to steal it before the auction. So the best time to hit will be during it. Bosses will be there, guards will be distracted by their compatriots. Parker, Eliot, and Taylor steal the data. Hardison, I'll need you to make sure the data hasn't been downloaded to anywhere else. Che, Sophie, be prepared to provide a distraction. Now, let's go steal us a safe house."


	6. Chapter 6

He waited more or less patiently for Parker to get in position. It was always hard to tell with her. She would just disappear and magically reappear in position. Creepy, like that. Taylor appeared to be waiting comfortably, crammed between a chimney and a vent. How she made it look comfortable was beyond him. He was in a similar position and was almost positive that the corner of the chimney was going to break his spine. The plan called for them to enter the safe house from the roof, through a window in the attic, the street access being too exposed. Good ‘nuff, but damned uncomfortable.

Timing was going to be critical. The auction should be starting any minute. Lawrence had hacked into the phones of some of the key players and found out that the hard drive would be transported to the auction site after the winning bid had been paid. They were apparently worried about being double-crossed on site. So the thieves would wait until the auction had begun, break in, grab the thumb drive, and get out. Hardison was down the street in a van, waiting to pick them up.

The only dicey part in this was Che and Sophie. They all would have preferred to just plant a bug and listen in on the auction, but the auction site was a private meeting room in the Sayen Hotel. Not even Taylor had been able to get close enough to plant a bug and she was a "friend of the family". Parker had tried the air ducts and had come out cursing about lasers and vibration detectors. 

So, the old-fashioned way it was. 

Taylor had promised that Che was capable of getting them out without problem and just in case, Lawrence and Nate were waiting in a rented sedan, prepared to swoop in and take them away. The only problem was that it left them without a distraction to cover their entrance and exit of the house. Well, couldn't be helped. Besides, he was pretty confident that he and Taylor could handle anyone in the house, and it'd been awhile since he’d gotten to bust some heads. He was kinda looking forward to it. And to seeing Taylor in action. He wanted to see if his assessment of her skills was accurate. Besides, with all the glares Taylor had been throwing Lawrence's way, he imagined she could do with a little frustration relief, too. He glanced back at her. There was just enough light to make out her profile. She was sitting with her head dropped forward, her eyes closed, and her chin tucked in against the cold. He could see the soft curve of her lips and the sharp line of her nose. There weren’t any lines on her forehead or around her eyes, for once. She was wearing black cargo pants tucked into low boots and her leather jacket. He had to admit, she was pretty good looking, when she wasn’t thinking about killing him. And there were other methods to relieve frustration... but he was pretty sure she'd kill him out of hand if he tried. Working together, yes; sleeping together, that was a bridge too far. Hell, he was surprised she was even working with him.

What really worried him was the thought that this was a set-up. It'd be an overly complicated con if it was, but no more than some of the silly shit Hardison had tried to pull off. This could be Taylor taking the opportunity to strike him when he was weak. His team was scattered, Taylor was intimately familiar with the area, and she had a sniper on her payroll. It would be all too easy for Taylor to have arranged a long-distance hit on him or any of his team. He was praying Nate hadn't misjudged her sense of honor and his trust in Nate wasn’t misplaced. He was beginning to think he hadn’t, though. She'd been ... different ... since she'd met up with them at the hotel, less hostile, more thoughtful. Hell, she'd even joked with Hardison and had an actual conversation with him. Maybe she hadn’t been meeting up with her sniper. Miracles could happen, right?

He heard the flick of a lighter. Shit. Two of the guards had stepped out a second floor balcony for a smoke. Hopefully, they'd be gone before he and Taylor had to move.

"You hear Eliot Spencer was spotted?" Shit. He looked over to Taylor and she met his eyes, shrugged. Looks like her source leaked. Oh well, what could they do about it now? Worry about it after the job.

"Where? Here?"

"Yeah. Didn't think he'd ever come back, not after he broke ties with Moreau. He's gotta know that even with Moreau gone, there's too many people here with a grudge for Russia to be safe."

"Heh, heard Lada was on a flight in right after his. She hasn't been back in years, either. Think it's coincidence?" Eliot made the connection, Lada as Taylor. Well, wasn't like any of them never used an alias, though now he was wondering what her real name was. File that away as a Hardison question. And at least their cover story had held. They wouldn't expect to see Taylor with him.

The other guard snorted. "Coincidence? Yeah, the way it's a coincidence it snows in winter."

"Whaddya think he's here for? Tie up loose ends?"

"Nah, there's none he knows about. Boss’ got that shit wrapped up tight." They must be talking about the survivor. He hadn't done any other major jobs in Russia, well, except for the Butcher, but that'd already been taken care of. No reason to come back. "I'd say he doesn't know this is Lada's home turf and she herded him here. Girl's smart like that. Besides, didn't ya hear? Latest is it that Spencer's gone soft. Working for the good guys even."

"What? No! For the government?"

"Nah, no government. Some independent team. Last I heard, based out of the US."

"Heh, so he's out the game now."

"Seems that way. No confirmed kills by him, at least, not in the past five years."

''Eh, time for him to retire anyway. He's gotta be getting old. Should be an easy wrap for Lada, at least." Their conversation wandered into the daily grind.

He was glad for the darkness. He was pretty sure his face was red. Soft? Old? Sure, he wasn't killing anymore, but that didn't make him any less dangerous, dammit. He looked at Taylor. It could be his imagination, but was she biting her lip? She turned her head and caught him looking. She was definitely fighting a smile. He glared. She tucked her chin and covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hide it. Goddammit. The damn guards had finished their smoke break and were headed back in. Taylor had gotten herself under control but was carefully not looking in his direction. 

Goddammit.

Eliot grumbled under his breath but got a hold of himself; go time was getting closer. He started loosening up his muscles and knew by Taylor's posture that she was doing the same. Minutes passed in silence. He glanced over to Taylor, making sure she was ready to go. No smiles now, all seriousness. She met his eyes and nodded slightly. She was ready. He looked to where Parker should be. He couldn't see her; he'd just have to trust that she was there. She was supposed to get them in through an attic window, then he and Taylor would clear a path to the second-floor room Taylor was sure the safe was in. Once they had the thumb drive, they'd clear another path to the front door and out to the street, where Hardison would be waiting for them.

Sophie's voice came in over the comms, ostensibly speaking to Che. "The auction is starting. Looks like everyone's here. Come on."

“Alright, guys. The auction won't take long, we have only a small window of opportunity. Move fast.” More unnecessary instruction from Nate.

He ran lightly across the roof and made the jump to their target; houses were packed tight here, the jump wasn't a far one. He landed lightly and headed for the attic window. Taylor joined him a moment later, her steps a bare whisper on the roof. He tested the window; open. He still had no clue where Parker was, but she'd done her job. He slipped through the window, scanning the room. He almost threw a knife at the shadow in the corner before he realized it was Parker.

He growled, "You were supposed to wait for us." She grinned and shrugged. "Where's the guard?" She grinned wider and held up her taser while pointing at a mound along the wall that he assumed was the guard. "Alright, should be two more below us in the hall. I'll go left, Taylor, you go right. And stay between us, Parker!"

Sophie broke in, "Five thousand." The auction was starting.

"Move it, gang."

"Yeah, we're working on it.” They gathered around the attic access, which was pulled up. One last review of the plan. ”We drop to the second floor hall. If we aren’t discovered, out through the attic. If we are, down the stairs to the first floor and out the front door. Hardison will be waiting. Got it?" 

Taylor and Parker nodded. Harrison chimed in over the comms. "Just give me the word and I’m there with the van." Eliot took a deep breath. Go time. 

At Eliot's nod, Parker pulled the cover off. Eliot dropped down, not bothering to deploy the ladder, and quickly moved away, making room for Taylor. He heard her land and then the snick of a knife leaving a sheath, followed a second later by the sound of a body hitting the floor. Her man was down. Great. Where the hell was his? Around the corner in front of him were stairs to the first floor, but he didn't want to give their position away by getting too close. They'd estimated a dozen well-armed men were down there, catching up on gossip from America. Eliot was good, but he really didn't want to test his luck that much.

He motioned Parker and Taylor to go on. He would maintain watch here. Taylor nodded and headed out. He found a good spot to watch and settled in.

Taylor disappeared with Parker, heading to the room that held the safe. Eliot heard her rush the door. Hopefully, the sound didn’t carry downstairs. Quiet, dammit, they needed quiet. A few moments later he heard curses in Russian. Shit. He prepared himself for a fight. Taylor had found the other guard and it didn’t sound like it was going in her favor. Did she need help? A short scream, cut off. Taylor cursing. Crap. That had definitely alerted the house. He could hear them rushing towards the stairs. He got up, moving into a ready stance. He’d hold them as long as he could, give Parker and Taylor a chance to break for it. He heard Taylor hiss at Parker, "Hurry!", after that, his attention was focused on the Russians who’d just cleared the corner to the stairs. They fanned out before him, holding knives and billy clubs. He heard Taylor skidding around the corner behind him, as he fended off the first attack. There were six of them, but they weren’t coordinating their attacks. He drove one into the wall with a simple throw and another back down the stairs with a hard kick, then spun and threw a third to the ground as he tried to slip by, striking the back of his neck. As he turned to deal with the forth, two more slipped by him. He’d have to trust Taylor to take care of them. 

As he put down the last of the original six who’d attacked, he spared a glance back to Taylor. She was standing ready, gun in hand. "Protect Parker!" He saw her quick nod and turned to deal with the next wave. 

As he dispatched the next two, he heard the sounds of fighting behind him. He automatically identified what was going on - the pop of a dislocation, the sharp crunch of breaking bone, and the solid thump of a kick landing. The screaming was all coming from men so Taylor must be holding her own. But he counted only one down. The sound of a knife being planted in a torso, then the rip as it came up and out. 

Two down. 

Eliot turned his full attention back to his fight. He was holding his own but for every one he took out, another stepped up. Only the narrowness of the hall kept him from being overwhelmed. There were too many and he was taking too many hits. Nothing broken yet, but it was only a matter of time. His head snapped to the side as he accepted a blow to the cheek in return for a hard elbow strike to a solar plexus followed by the back of his fist to a face. Even he couldn’t maintain this forever. A strike to his ribs while he took out a knee and threw another goon down the stairs.

"Hurry Parker!" Taylor yelled.

"Ten seconds!"

Crap. The Russians were starting to think. Eliot found himself suddenly embroiled with six while more slipped by. He couldn’t reach them. Dammit! Taylor had better be as good as Lawrence and Che thought. They were effectively separated and she was now facing four, while he was facing six. On the bright side, so far, the goons hadn’t pulled the guns he could see under their jackets. Fear of friendly fire, most likely. He blocked a kick at his knee and returned the favor, following up with a hook that knocked the guy down. 

"Now, Parker!" Taylor yelling at Parker. Good. They needed to get the hell out of here.

He took a shot to the kidney, but used his forward momentum to knock another two down. A hard kick took out the jackass who’d landed the punch. 

"Coming!" A pause. "Oh. That's a lot of guards."

"Spencer! Coming through!" 

Eliot heard and redoubled his efforts. More Russians went down the stairs or met the floor, unmoving. He didn’t think he’d killed any, but he couldn’t be sure. Things were getting too heavy. He just had to hold them off a bit longer. 

Suddenly, Taylor broke through the ring of guards surrounding him. He caught her eye and gave a quick nod. Time to get out of here. She charged on, Parker in tow. He fell in behind and guarded their retreat. 

There was still a half a dozen Russians behind them. Taylor had just plowed her way through. He couldn’t blame her technique. The primary goal was to get out, not to put down all the opposition. Sometimes knowing the real objective was the most important part of the fight. He could hear Taylor landing blows, sounded like she’d brought her asp into play. They were still making forward progress and he was down to three opponents. Two, as a punch to the temple knocked another out. They were approaching much more carefully now. They needed to get out before they decided to bring guns into play. 

They'd reached the stairwell, finally. This should be the easy part, pushing through their enemies from above. And it would have been, too, if someone hadn't gotten in a good kick to Taylor’s ankle, sending her down, followed up by a strike to the ribs that surely cracked something. Eliot dispatched the last of the guards to their rear. He pushed past Parker just as Taylor, off balance and falling, launched herself down the stairs, directly at the clump of mobsters charging up them. She hit with a crash, and as luck would have it, tumbled all of them back down to the landing. As luck would also have it, she landed on the bottom of the heap. Shit. 

Parker was already flying down the stairs, leaping over the pile, before Eliot had even made it to the knot of people at the landing. She slammed open the door and sprinted out as Eliot laid into the pile, finding Taylor as she kicked her way out, and plucked her up, hand firmly under her arm.

"Now, Hardison!"

Taylor couldn’t seem to get her legs to cooperate so Eliot manhandled her out the door. She finally got a hold of herself and pulled away from him, sprinting to the van door Parker already had open. She dived in, landing on the floor between the front seats and first row of passenger seats. Eliot was a second behind her, throwing himself into the bucket seat and slamming the door behind him. Hardison hit the gas and the van bucked forward. 

"Yeah, I got 'em. Gonna have to do some drivin'. One of 'ems gotta be smart enough to try and follow. ... Yeah, think they're okay.” Shit, he’d lost his damn earbud. He couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation.

“Taylor's injured. Broken rib." He could tell with a glance. She was favoring her side, a hand hovering over her ribs. If even she didn’t want to touch it, it was definitely broken.

She cracked an eye and looked up at Eliot. He was leaning over her, hand hovering over her own. He wanted to help, but he was afraid she would take his hand off if he tried. She nodded at him, shutting her eyes again. Good ‘nuff. His kept his touch light as he pulled up her shirt, but it was still enough to make her flinch. When he started inspecting her ribcage, she bit her lip, muffling a yell.

"Definitely a broken rib, but it's a clean break, nothing poking through. No hospital." He saw her relief at that. No doubt a Russian hospital was nowhere any of them wanted to be. He watched the emotions cross her face. She was worried about something, regretful of something. What? Tossing in with them? Or... a gun in her waistband... Regretful of not taking her shot at him while she had a chance? It would’ve been the perfect time. The Russians undoubtedly would have pulled their own weapons in response. She could have blamed his death on them. He pulled the gun out of her waistband. Taylor cracked an eye. He cocked his an eyebrow inquisitively. Better to know now.

"'Fraid I would hit you," she forced out. He could see the effort it cost her to speak. In her state, he doubted she could lie to him. Hell, he doubted she could lie to him at any time. She would really suck as a grifter. 

He didn't smile, but he felt his face relax. Maybe Nate was right, after all.

Taylor closed her eyes. Passed out? No, not passed out, just laying very still. Couldn't say he blamed her, broken ribs hurt like hell. Can’t believe she’d taken a headfirst dive down the stairs. He’d tease her about it later, when she wasn’t in quite so much pain. 

Parker caught his eye from the other passenger seat. She grinned and wiggled the fingers of one hand at him. The other hand was cupping something in her lap. What the hell was that? Parker held it up for his inspection. 

"Is that… Parker! Is that C4?" He barked out the words. What the fuck was Parker thinking? Where the hell had she gotten it?

Parker was unfazed and nodded happily. "Yup! And there were even blasting caps!" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a fuse blasting cap. "I think they were trying to rig the safe to blow as a failsafe. They did a crappy job."

"So. You. Took. It?" He was having trouble forming coherent thoughts. Parker and explosives. This could go nowhere good.

"Well, yeah. Couldn’t just leave it there. Someone might’ve gotten hurt."

"Exactly. Hand it over." He held out his hand, insisting. Parker pouted but dropped the blasting cap into his hand. She continued to cradle the C4, though.

"Parker…"

She sighed. "You worry too much." But she gave him the explosive. 

Great. What the fuck was he supposed to do with it now? He hadn’t really thought ahead, just wanted to get the things that go boom out of Parker’s hands before she decided to try them out. He slipped the C4 into his jacket pocket. It was small and stable, it’d be safe enough. The blasting cap, though… Hardison tossed a small box over his shoulder at him. Eliot caught it reflexively. A cell phone box. Who the hell knows where Hardison had gotten it, who cared. It still had packing material in it and it would safely cradle the blasting cap. He slipped the blasting cap into the box and made sure it wouldn’t move. Reassured, he slipped it into his other jacket pocket. With any luck, it wouldn’t explode.

He slumped back in the his chair, closing his eyes. Hardison hadn’t broken stride in his conversation with Lawrence about the data retrieved. Eliot was passed caring. Parker’s surprise was the icing on the cake for the night. Too much. He may have gotten away without any serious injuries, but he'd still taken some solid hits, especially before Taylor had come racing back to help him. His kidney was bruised and he was sure he’d be pissing blood for a week. And that crack to the face might have actually broken the bone. He’d have Nate check it out when they got back to the hotel. As long as he hadn’t broken his the orbital bone, he’d be fine. Nothing some ice and painkillers wouldn’t fix. 

He wasn’t the only one who’d need it, either. He studied Taylor again. She was trying to stay as motionless as possible. Did her unwillingness to use the gun and potentially put him in danger mean anything? Or was she just holding to her agreement? He really hoped it meant she was letting the past go. If she came after him, after all this, he would have to kill her. Nothing else would keep her away. 

And he found that he would regret that.

Hardison was driving fast, taking turns quickly. He could see Taylor wince every time the movement of the van caused her to shift, but she seemed to be getting a hold of the pain. It was a trick every good hitter learned eventually, how to block the pain and keep going. He gripped her hand, trying to give her an external focus from the pain. Her breathing became steady, if shallow, and her eyes opened.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Moving’s gonna suck till I get it wrapped, but I'll survive.” She hissed. “Damn it, Hardison! Would you quit!” 

"Hey, if you wanna continue your little convo with the mob, that's up to you, but I'm trying to get the rest of us clear."

"Could you at least try not to kill me in the process?"

A low mutter was the only response from Hardison and Eliot found himself grinning at Taylor. Apparently, they both had a talent for riling Hardison. He squeezed the hand he was still holding and got a pained grin in return.

Entirely too much time later, Hardison pulled into the parking lot of the hotel.

"Alright, rise and shine, kids. We're home."

He caught a faint mutter from Taylor. "I'm going to kill him."

He smirked, or attempted to, stopping as pain shot through the left side of his face. Definitely broken. "Get in line. Here, let me help." Taylor was attempting to sit up without provoking her ribs, and by the grimace on her face, failing. He slipped an arm around her shoulders to support her and carefully drew her into a seated position. Slowly backing out of the van, he helped her scoot to the door. There, she let out a long breath, and hoisted herself onto her feet. His arm went around her waist and her arm draped over his shoulders. "Can you make it?"

She nodded but her eyes were narrowed and she was leaning against him with every step.

"Ankle?"

"Minor sprain, I think. Can we get to the room like this without drawing too much attention?"

He grunted. "Act drunk."

He'd waved Parker and Hardison on while getting Taylor out of the van. A good thing, because Hardison wouldn't have let him live down the blush he felt on his cheeks as Taylor leaned into him and nuzzled into his shoulder, her hand suddenly against the back of his neck instead of over his shoulder, stumbling every few steps. He grinned and shrugged as they passed the desk clerk; a good guy helping his very drunk friend back to her room. At the elevators, which were still in sight of the clerk, Taylor leaned her back against the wall, then reached out and snagged a belt loop on his jeans, pulling him in for a kiss. He tried to hold himself away, fearful of hurting her ribs, but she tugged him in closer until he was standing between her legs, one arm around her waist, the other holding his weight against the wall.

What was she doing? Yeah, they had to sell it to the clerk, but most people automatically looked away from PDA. There was no need for the hand curling against the back of his neck, or the hand that had just dropped from his hip to his ass, or the teeth that scraped against his bottom lip. 

Fuck. 

Thoughts were temporarily suspended when she deepened the kiss and he reacted automatically, pressing her to the wall. Her chuckle was muffled by their kiss, but when he pulled back, she looked downright mischievous.

"Drunk enough?"

He growled and pressed her against the wall again, and she straight up laughed, wincing at the movement of her ribs, but pulled him back in for another kiss. The woman was definitely riding high on some major doses of adrenaline and endorphin. But who was he to complain? 

And then the elevator arrived.

She broke the kiss, looking entirely too amused, and pushed a hand against his chest. Oh, yeah. Job. Not making out in the hallway with a woman who had previously declared her intent to kill him. 

Did this little scene mean she was rethinking her death threat? Or was she just as relieved as he was to have made it out mostly intact? He helped her into the elevator, moving to put his back against the wall. But instead of resting against the wall, she followed his movement and ended up leaning against his chest as the doors closed. She tapped a finger against his chest, pointed upwards. Ah, yes, the elevator camera. He wrapped his arms around her waist as she turned her head into his neck. The feel of her lips against his skin damn near made him jump. As it was, he couldn't stop his arms from tightening. He lowered his lips to her ear and growled, "What do you think you're doing?" He could feel her smile against his neck.

"Enjoying the fact that I'm still alive. Had my doubts for a minute." He grunted in response. He hadn’t thought it was all that bad. Of course, he wasn’t the one with broken ribs. She sighed against his neck and pressed a kiss below his ear, raising goosebumps on his skin. Maybe sleeping with a teammate wasn’t such a bad idea.

And then the elevator arrived. Goddammit.

Taylor pushed away from him, grinning, and limped out of the elevator without waiting for him. He hurried to catch up and offered his support again. Neither of them said anything as they reached their door. It opened as they approached, Hardison filling the entryway.

"Move." 

Hardison backed away, hands raised. "No need to be so grouchy. Last I checked, you weren't the one limping. Though, not getting to follow through on that kiss might make me grumpy, too!" 

Hardison dodged out of reach, laughing. 

Of course Hardison had watched through the hotel cameras, making sure they were safe. He growled and would have ripped into him if it weren't for Taylor's sudden gasp of pain. Concerned, he guided her into a chair. And then realized she was trying to suppress laughter. He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "You will pay for that." She just laughed, holding her ribs.

"Goddammit."


	7. Chapter 7

Lawrence and Hardison were going through the thumb drive, sanitizing it for release. Their client didn't want any innocents to be harmed by the release, and the team agreed. While they did that, Eliot worked at wrapping Taylor’s ribs and ankle. His hands were as gentle as he could make them and he was politely ignoring the fact that she was shirtless and his head was at chest level.

"Okay. Better?"

She took a slow, deep breath. He felt his cheeks flush and he had to look away as her chest rose. 

She wants to kill you. Stop. Looking. At. Her. Breasts.

“Yeah. Better. Thanks.” Was it his imagination or had she sounded amused? He narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything about it. Bad enough he was already getting shit from Hardison and Parker. 

"Alright. Ankle next." He moved the ice bag off her foot. Parker had been kind enough to bring her some ice to help the swelling. It seemed to have done the job. He didn’t think the sprain had been too bad to begin with, probably just a bad twist, and the ice had helped even more. She should be able to limp around with it if she kept her bootlaces tight.

He felt how she kept herself carefully relaxed under his administrations. He could tell the difference. If she were actually at ease, her hands wouldn’t be twitching every now and then as she restrained some urge. Urge to do what? He was aware he had put himself in a somewhat indefensible position. Not completely, but she would have the advantage, if she decided to take it. He told himself again that she wouldn’t, she’d already proven that. Just concentrate on taping her up.

"Alright, gang. We've made sure of the data?" Lawrence and Hardison looked up from where they had set up shop.

"Yeah, yeah. We cool."

"Taylor, can you travel?" 

“Well 'nuff. l wouldn't say no to some heavy painkillers, though.”

Eliot rummaged around in the bag at his feet and came up with a bottle of codeine.

"That'll do."

"Hardison--"

"Yeah, yeah. We got tickets on the first flights out. We all leave within a half hour of each other, but going home by different routes in pairs. Nate and Lawrence. Sophie and Che. Me and Parker. Eliot and Taylor." He was grinning broadly at Eliot. Eliot glared in return. Taylor stared at the opposite wall, looking like she was holding back a smile. She was doing better than Parker, who was grinning widely. He glared at all of them before finishing up Taylor’s ankle. He shifted to face the room as Nate spoke, putting the ice back on Taylor’s ankle and holding it in place.

"Can you set up the data to release as soon as we depart? I'd rather not be in the neighborhood when the Russians realize we've let the cat out of the bag."

"We have a cat?"

"No, Parker." Eliot sighed from his seat at Taylor’s feet. His free hand was moving automatically over her foot and calf, gently massaging. He frowned, thinking about the trip to the airport and the flight home. There were still a lot of things that could go wrong. 

“Yeah. I'll set it up on a timer. Won't post until we're safely in the air. Then it'll go to every major news publication in the world and Wikileaks. It'll be on the airwaves before noon."

"Okay. No one leaves the suite tonight. There's going to be a lot of heat over this."

Taylor sounded hesitant, but spoke up, "More than you might think. When my source finds out that I was helping Eliot and not hunting him, she is going to be very, very, very angry."

"How long till she finds out?"

Another hesitation. "She probably already knows. She'll have searchers out within the hour. I should travel separately to the airport. I'll just be endangering you otherwise."

"You can't travel alone, you can barely walk," Eliot protested quietly, his hands still.

"I can take care of myself." Eliot just snorted.

Then Che jumped on the bandwagon. “No, amiga. We start as a team, we end as a team. That's what you signed up for and I'm holding you to it."

"You're awfully annoying this week, Che.'' Che just chuckled in response. “Fine. Then me and Eliot travel separately. We'll meet you at the airport.” He could do that. Potential crisis averted, he relaxed, leaning back against Taylor’s good leg, his shoulder against the chair seat. His hand moved again. Rubbing up from her foot to her calf, feeling the muscles spasm and relax as he worked.

"I can live with that, amiga."

"Alright, then. Anything else?"

"I lost my earbud in the fight. You need to cut it out of the network, Hardison. And Lawrence, the design still isn't quite right. It fell out when Eliot hauled me up."

Lawrence grunted, "Noted." Damn, he wished Hardison was so receptive to criticism of his precious earbuds. 

“Mine’s gone, too. Seriously, Hardison. Fix the damn design.” All he got was a glare in return. He grinned.

"Got it. GPS still has both at the safe house. Probably haven't found ‘em yet. Turned off the transmitters but I'll know if they find ‘em." Lawrence tossed a new one to both of them.

“Security?" Taylor asked. 

"Got it covered. Parker installed webcams covering all possible approaches. We'll have plenty of warning."

"Good. Sounds like my job is done." She sighed. "Where the fuck is my bed?"

There was laughter from several points, including him. She staggered to her feet, untangling her legs from him. Sophie pointed at one of the four rooms and Taylor nodded her thanks. Eliot moved to help her and she growled. It almost sounded threatening. He grinned. She’d learned something in their short time together, then. She bounced off a few walls, but managed to shut the door behind her. 

\--------

He was going to kill Che. He should have known something was up when Che’d looked up distractedly from his bags and asked Eliot to wake Taylor up. 

He’d done that. Even done it carefully, aware that a lot of hitters had violent tendencies when they woke up with hands on ‘em. Came from a life of waking up in dangerous situations. He should have just thrown something at her, because he had apparently still been within striking range. She’d been tangled in her covers, barely visible. Her jeans and bra were on the floor next the bed, her weapons on the bedside table. He’d touched her ankle and she’d exploded.

Now he was on his stomach, his right arm bent back painfully in an elbow lock, not entirely sure how he’d gotten there. The woman had some moves. She was holding him firmly, one hand on his elbow, the other at his wrist, holding his arm against her chest. Her bare thighs were clamped tight on his hips. He carefully didn’t struggle. He was pretty sure she had been asleep when she’d flipped him. Wasn’t sure if she still was. And if she was operating on automatic, this could go poorly for him. 

He felt a change in her breathing. Ah, now she was awake. And taking stock. He could feel her confusion in the shifting of her muscles, her thighs gripping his hips more tightly, the hilt of his knife digging into his side momentarily, her hands tightening painfully on his arm. He craned his head further to the side to address her dryly, "Oh good, you're awake." He couldn’t quite make eye contact, but he caught the flush as it climbed up her neck. Her lips were almost touching his jaw. He probably shouldn’t grin right now. 

She didn’t move. Was she thinking about the hallway? Because he sure as hell was. Then she released her grip, almost reluctantly, and grunted an apology. Moving carefully, she rolled off of him, but not carefully enough. She failed to bite back a groan of pain. Eliot sat up and offered the bottle of codeine. She shook her head. Eliot nodded and reached over her to put the bottle on the nightstand with the various weaponry she had disarmed herself of before she'd passed out. He could understand not wanting to take something that might slow you down when you might need every last millisecond. He hesitated, he was pressed against her side, leaning over her. Her black t-shirt had ridden up to her ribs and she was wearing dark red bikini briefs. He looked up at her from beneath his eyelashes and lowered his hand to her hip, brushing his thumb over the bruises forming there. Her mind was definitely not on the job. Her eyes were on his lips, a blush in her cheeks, her breathing shallow and unsteady. He smiled slowly, then completed the movement he was already in the middle of, passing himself over her, careful of her ribs, and rolling off the bed. Now was not the time for this. And that was a sad fact.

"Let me know when you're ready and I'll re-wrap your ribs and ankle."

She didn’t respond. He shut the door behind himself. It took a few short minutes to get his own gear in order. He traveled light anyway, but Hardison would be taking all of his weapons and the few other things he’d brought.

It’d been long enough for Taylor to have put herself in order. He knocked at the door, not waiting for an answer. He poked his head in, bandages in his hand. "Ready?"

She nodded and sat at the end of the bed, hiking up her shirt. Her expression didn’t reveal what she’d thought of his earlier actions. Just the blank face of a professional. 

Alright, then. 

"You sure you're up to this?", he asked as he wrapped the bandage around her torso.

"You have a better idea?" 

He sighed and shook his head. "You think your source will really be upset enough to hunt you down?"

"As long as I'm in Russia, yes." Her voice softened. "You killed her family, almost got her, too." He felt a stab of guilt at that. No matter how hard he tried, he knew that he’d never atone for the things he’d done. This was just one more example of his past haunting him. Taylor continued, “She spent years sharpening her skills, planning your death. She’ll see this as a betrayal of everything she's lived for for the past six years, from the person who was a witness to it all.

Yes, she'll try to kill me.” Her voice betrayed her feelings, her mask cracking. He could hear the hurt, the pain, the regret. But she had still done it. To protect her client. To protect her teammates, including him. The guilt was damn near unbearable.

"I'm sorry." His voice was soft and low, and his voice broke on those two short words. But god, he owed her that. That he’d not trusted her made it even worse.

Taylor was motionless. He finished wrapping her ribs but stayed where he was, kneeling in front of her, his hands resting on the side of her knees, refusing to meet her eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to see the emotion she was so bad at hiding, that he knew would be there. She let her t-shirt fall back down. He didn’t move.

“I've done a lot of horrible things in my life, and I don't deserve forgiveness for any of them. I remember that attack. We took out an entire town at the orders of Damien Moreau." He leaned forward and rested his head in her lap. Oh yes, he remembered. He could never forget. Any of it. "And I executed them without a second thought. I led the team and I pulled the trigger. Their blood will forever be on my hands." And their faces behind his eyelids, in his dreams. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath, leaned against her legs. He felt her hands on his head, hesitant. Threat? Forgiveness? He wasn't sure. He wouldn’t blame her for the first, and couldn’t ask for the second. "I'm sorry that working with me has put you at odds with someone you obviously care about. Actions have consequences. And I regret that the consequences of my actions are landing on you." Her fingers tightened convulsively on his scalp, knotting in his hair. Eliot tensed against her as he felt it, but didn't try to move, didn’t try to stop whatever it was she was going to do. Part of him welcomed it. He had purposefully put himself in this position. He would accept the consequences. She could break his neck, quickly, silently, and be gone before the rest of the team even knew it. And he was ready to accept that.

He felt her decision when she made it. He could feel her refocus and her fingers carding through his hair, removing the knots she had made just moments before. He didn’t think she was aware she was doing it. Eliot didn’t move as she spoke. 

"You don't need to worry about me." Her voice was rough. "Save it for Amelia."

Amelia? He stiffened and finally looked up at her. She’d confirmed his fears. “Amelia?" She nodded. He needed confirmation. ”As in the sniper who took out Vyacheslav lvankov?" She nodded again.  "Shit." A small smile, and she nodded again. He wished he hadn’t been right.

They were in deep shit.

———

He began moving quickly, wrapping her ankle and helping her with her shoes. He offered her a hand up, "We need to move soon, then. Getting to the airport undetected may take longer than we thought."

"We won't. But, yes, we need to get a move on."

After that, things happened quickly. Armed and with comms, they slipped out a side door. They'd talked about using the rooftops, but Russian winters called for steep roofs, rough on Taylor's ankle, and the line of sight would favor Amelia. So on to the streets they went.

They headed away from the hotel, trying to remain inconspicuous. That lasted for all of three blocks before Eliot caught a tail. They hopped in a cab and debated if they should just head straight to the airport, while the cabbie drove around aimlessly, "letting them sightsee." They decided to go as far as they could by taxi, but for the last part, they were going to have to hoof it. The passenger drop-off area was too exposed, a ready-made kill box for a sniper. They were better off sneaking in on foot.

The cab dropped them off in a residential neighborhood southwest of the airport. Russian airport security being what is was, it wasn't a difficult thing to jog across a field and climb over a chain link fence to the airport proper. But now things would get more difficult. They had been safe enough crossing the field; Amelia wouldn't have had time to spot them and shoot. But if she were smart - and she was - then she'd have facial recognition running on all of the airport security cameras, as well as having personnel looking for them. And she was probably in a position to overlook the entire airport.

"Tower?" he asked.

Taylor shook her head no. "Too short, too many arrays in the way." They both scanned the landscape. Most every building on the airport was a single story. The buildings around the airport weren't much taller. "There." She pointed directly west. "The fuel silos." They were taller than anything else in the vicinity, easily accessible to the main road, and despite what Hollywood led the general populace to believe, jet fuel was hard to set on fire. Short of an incendiary round, a sniper would be safe enough, perched up there. And she'd have good coverage of the entire airport.

"We're going to have to take her out to get to the terminal."

Taylor didn't respond, didn’t look at him.

He clarified. "I'm not talking about killing her, Taylor. Just taking her out of the game long enough to board the plane."

She sighed, nodded once, and headed west, reluctance in every line of her body. 

They ended up actually having to leave the airport proper and cut through a cargo yard. The military portion of the airport had surprisingly good security and they couldn't afford that kind of attention.

Nate's voice came through his earbud, "Leaving the hotel now." Okay, they needed to take out Amelia before the rest of the team arrived at the airport. They didn’t know if the rest of the team had been made, if Amelia would even try to take them out when Eliot and Taylor were her real targets, but why take that chance?

They paused at the last line of cargo containers.

"Not a heck of a lot of cover between here and the silos." Taylor grunted her agreement. He knew she was in pain, she was favoring her side. "We could search for an easier route."

Her answer was to take a running start and vault up and over the chain link fence. Goddammit! He leaped over after her. She was making a beeline straight for the only building across the street and he followed her. He skidded to stop next to her, glaring. Taylor grinned at him, unrepentant, even if she was holding her ribs.

"Glad to see you can keep up with an injured chick." His lips pursed and he opened his mouth to reply when she took off for the side of the building away from the silos. He growled and ran after her.

The door of the building was on the wrong side, so they'd have to skirt the building and hope for the best. Taylor peeked around the north corner just to jerk her head back immediately as a bullet ricocheted off the wall.

"Well, that answers that."

There was still a depressingly large, empty parking lot to get through before they could get to the silo.

“Any ideas?"

Eliot responded by laying down and cautiously creeping to the corner of the building. Then ducking back much more quickly as another round whizzed by.

"Not a lot of options."

She indicated the sole car in the parking lot. "Run for the car, hope it holds up long enough to get us across?"

He looked at her in disbelief. "You are aware that cars won't stop high caliber bullets, right?"

"I said 'hope'."

He snorted. "We could use that car, though." A plan was forming. 

\--------

The car was close enough that they could reach it before Amelia took them out. He hoped. To increase their chances, Taylor was going to circle around the building and try to draw the snipers’ attention. He’d been tempted to argue that the injured party shouldn’t be the one having to rely on speed, but the look on her face when he’d taken the C4 from his pocket had convinced him otherwise. 

"What? Not a fan of explosives?"

She held up her hands defensively. "All well and good, as long as it doesn’t involve me. That shit’s dangerous."

Really, Taylor? Hand-to-hand combat is just fine, but explosives are scary? Those were some messed up priorities.

So, it’d ended up being him making the sprint to the car, unscrewing the gas cap and shoving the C4 into the fuel line. He could hear shots being fired, but they weren’t in his direction. Amelia’d taken the bait. 

For once, his Zippo worked the first time and he lit the short fuse, sprinting back to the building they’d taken cover behind. Taylor met him there a few seconds later, intact. 

The fuse wasn’t long.

The resulting explosion was impressive. Jet fuel was notoriously difficult to catch on fire, but gasoline? Not so much. The resulting fireball had caused enough of a diversion and thick, noxious, black smoke to let them sprint across the lot unseen. 

Eliot skidded to a stop where Taylor had collapsed against the silo. He couldn't believe that that had worked.

Unfortunately, it also meant they would have company very shortly. In general, airports responded quickly to large fires on their premises. So up the exterior ladder they went, no time to waste, Taylor in front of him. At the top, she hesitated.

"Don't shoot, Amelia. l'm coming up." Eliot glared at her. Seriously? Just give away every advantage they had. Well, too late now. Taylor took the last couple of steps up and stepped out onto the silo roof. She didn’t immediately fall to a bullet, so he assumed either Amelia wasn’t there or was willing to talk. "Zaika-" a bullet whipped by. Taylor paused, then continued, "Can we talk?"

Eliot could barely hear Amelia, but it was enough. "About how you've betrayed me? No! But give me Spencer and you can walk away. Leave and never return, and we’ll call it even." He pegged her at about halfway across the roof of the silo. If she were smart, behind some sort of cover. 

He could hear Taylor take a couple steps forward, making room for him to come up, halting when Amelia yelled, "Stop! Or die where you stand!" Good. He couldn’t see, but he trusted her to be out of his line when the time came.

"Really, Amelia? Are we reduced to tired cliches?" Really, Taylor? Snark? When she wanted to kill you?

“Tell me, Lada, are you really working with him? Tell me this is a convoluted setup! Tell me you are not working with the man who killed my family! All of them!” She was in a rage. “Tell me you have not betrayed me!”

There was a hesitation from Taylor, but she answered. He got ready to move. "I can't, Amelia. I can't maintain the anger anymore, I can't hold on to the grief, and I can't kill a man who is trying to make amends."

Amelia screamed wordlessly and pulled the trigger. At the first sound, Eliot was up and over the side of the silo. Taylor had thrown herself to the side. As Amelia swung her rifle around to Eliot, Taylor threw her last knife. It hit home, lodged in the junction of Amelia's shoulder, slicing nerves and tendons, rendering her arm useless. In those seconds, Eliot charged across the roof, knocking the rifle out of her hands. A well-placed blow to the temple knocked her unconscious. Eliot ran to where Taylor was still laying, in shock.

"Are you okay? Did she get you?"

She mutely shook her head, pushed him away, and went to the ladder. “We've got to go." She jumped to the first platform. She didn't look back. He followed her silently.


	8. Chapter 8

Boarding the plane was anti-climatic. The team had all safely boarded their flights and were headed home.

He and Taylor were two hours into what was going to be a tortuously long flight. He could tell Taylor’s ribs were hurting her but she didn’t say a word. Hadn't, since they'd left the silo. Neither had he. If she wanted to talk, she would. Otherwise, better to just leave her alone. He watched as she pulled the painkillers he’d given her out of her pocket, swallowed them, and passed out. He was left with his own thoughts, circling endlessly.

This job was turning out to be way more complicated than it should have been. Russian mafia. Pissed off snipers. Taylor. He'd like to smack Nate for getting them involved in all of it. They could've just supplied the information, stepped back, and let Lawrence's team handle it. No betrayals, no mixed feelings, no worries, nice and neat. But no, that would've been too easy and Lord knows, Nate didn't do easy. So instead, Eliot was on a plane, sitting next to a woman who had first promised to kill him, then defended him. Who had kissed him passionately, and then not spoken to him for hours. And who apparently didn't give a fuck, judging by the way she took those pills and closed her eyes.

His mind kept poking at the last 12 hours. He was vaguely embarrassed about the scene in the bedroom this morning. Opening up like that was definitely not his thing. But he'd owed Taylor that much. He'd known what the cost for her was likely to be. He couldn't let that pass without comment, not if he was the man he had claimed to be, at least.

And he was determinedly not going to think about her hands in his hair, the feel of her hip under his hand, or the way she’d blushed. 

It was going to be a long 24 hours home.

\------

Taylor came to as they were making their descent into Alaska. She'd woken briefly mid-flight, drank some water, used the facilities, and took more painkillers. Eliot had pretended to be asleep. At some point though, her discomfort, even through the painkillers, got to him. She didn’t wake up as he slid his arm behind her shoulders and pulled her into his side, which just showed him how deep under she was. She’d eventually settled with her head in the crook of his shoulder, his hand on her bicep, keeping her in place.

She came to while he was dozing. He felt her pulling away and his hand convulsed reflexively on her shoulder, keeping her close, before he finally woke up and realized what was going on. He let her go and reclaimed his arm as she sat up. She was blinking muzzily and a blush had risen in her cheeks. She refused to look at him, instead closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. It'd only been a few hours since she'd taken the last dose of painkillers and it looked like it was still hitting her pretty hard. He should have made her eat something, instead of being a coward and pretending to sleep. She ran a hand through her short hair and tried to put herself to rights. He looked away before she could catch him staring.

"We're got a four hour layover here, before catching our last flight to Portland."

She grunted, then sighed, sounding resigned. "So, how do you want to kill a couple hours?"

"I'm sure there's a bar." She sure as hell wasn’t up for anything other than sitting.

She grunted agreement. Briefly closing her eyes. A blush rose to her cheeks again. What’d caused that?

"How ya feelin'?"

She took a deep breath, flexed some muscles, testing. “Okay. Fuzzy from the meds, little dizzy. Try not to get us into any fights.” She smiled and quirked an eyebrow at him.

He smiled and winked. "No promises."

"Oh, Jesus Christ." She muttered and rolled her eyes, holding back a smile. He chuckled softly, glad she was in a better mood. Or maybe just high as a kite. That was a distinct possibility.

As they stepped off the plane, Eliot wrapped his arm around her waist, and he felt her startle, then relax. He’d taken her off guard. Those pills must be hitting hard. They were supposed to be pretending to be a couple. Everyone was. He studied her. Was this going to be a problem? She was thinking hard, but there was a small smile on her lips. He squeezed her hip, getting her attention, smiled inquisitively.

"Nate and Lawrence."

He laughed, following her train of thought. "I would give a great deal of money to see that." They were all supposed to be acting the couple. All of them. Lawrence had leanings towards men, he knew that, but Nate didn’t. It could be an amusing situation.

"Hardison?"

"Oooh, Good idea." He pulled out his phone and texted Hardison one-handed, not letting go of Taylor. Any excuse, right? Nope, not gonna think about it. He smirked as he got a reply. Hardison was lovin’ it, he could practically hear him cackling with glee. "He's on it."

He guided them towards the food court, and got no argument from Taylor. She needed food and fast. He was beginning to think she was having a pretty strong reaction to the meds. She stumbled and Eliot caught her and pulled her against him, one arm around her waist, his other hand resting just below her neck, supporting her.

"Woah, there. You okay?"

She shook her head and rested her forehead against his chest, breathing deeply. "Give me a sec. Maybe shouldn't have taken that second dose. Dizzy." Her voice sounded weak but he didn't comment, just wrapped his arms around her more tightly. She leaned into him and he had to resist the urge to bury his face against her hair. His mind flashed back to their scene in the hotel hallway, to the bed. Dammit, focus. They were standing in the middle of an airport terminal. Focus.

"Alright. Food. Asap."

He loosened his grip, looking down at her, eyes narrowed. She met his gaze. "l'm fine, really. Just narcotics on an empty stomach."

"No concussion?"

She elbowed his side she pulled away and turned toward the nearest restaurant. "No. Food. Now." He grunted and resumed their walk to the nearest food joint, arm firmly around her waist.

They had three more hours to kill before their flight boarded. He was content to nurse his beer, but she'd passed on alcohol. An intelligent decision. She looked like she was barely staying upright. Hell, she wasn’t, strictly speaking. If her ribs didn't keep her upright, she'd probably have already fallen asleep at the table. As it was, she had an elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, her eyes barely open. She appeared to be scanning the passing crowd. 

She broke the silence. “There are at least two pickpockets working the crowd."

"Three. Teenager with the blue hat."

"Doesn't count. He's working in tandem with the older guy."

He grunted and let a few seconds pass without comment. "Haven't seen any signs we were followed."

"We weren't. Amelia ... she would've wanted to take care of it herself. Wouldn't trust it to anyone else. And she doesn't like to leave the homeland."

Eliot didn't respond, just kept looking at the crowd. There was nothing further to add on that topic.

"So, feeling old yet?" This time she did try to hide her smile, but failed miserably. Eliot glared. She tried to look innocent. It didn't work. Eliot continued his glare. She was going to be as bad as Hardison. Her smile grew to a grin. "Going soft?" He growled at her. It did not have the intended affect. She outright laughed.

"Really? This from the woman who thought a swan dive down a stairwell was an appropriate exit strategy?"

It didn't quell her grin. Eliot grumbled to himself. Smug and happy with her pokes at him, she turned and watched the crowd again. The hours till boarding passed much faster than he expected. Despite her warped sense of humor.

\----------

Taylor was checking the news feeds on her smartphone as soon as the plane touched down. Eliot watched over her shoulder.

"Looks like it went as planned."

"Mm-hmm." She scrolled through the headlines while he watched. No mention of names, no reports of sudden deaths, just a general outrage directed at the dirty military contractors and their CEO's and the U.S. government making appropriate sympathetic sounds.

"Good, then we can go to the office and wrap this thing up."

Taylor hummed noncommittally. Eliot didn’t call her on it. She’d been subdued since they’d started their descent into Portland.

Any possible conversation was tabled as they exited the plane and made their way to the taxi stand. Eliot checked in with Nate, who told him to head in. Che had lunch waiting and they'd wrap up the job as soon as they got there. He passed that on to Taylor and got only a grunt in response. He sighed and let it go. She’d tell him or she wouldn’t. He flagged down a taxi and got in, sliding over to make room for Taylor. 

The ride to the brewery was silent. Taylor looked wrapped up in her own thoughts. Well enough. Eliot wasn’t the type to be scared by silences and he recognized the tenseness in her. It was the same as she’d had when this job started. Whenever, whatever, she decided, he’d deal with it.

\---------

Well, that was it then. Lawrence made his fair-wells and left quickly. He couldn’t say that he was sad to see the man go. He had to agree with Taylor’s assessment: talented, but an ass. Taylor had relaxed as soon as he’d left, though she’d continued to shoot glances his way. He pretended not to see.

They were all waiting for her and Che to make their departure, but they’d had spent the last five minutes having silent conversation under the guise of cleaning up after lunch. He’d overheard Che tell her that if she thought she was going anywhere without his supervision, she was delusional. She’d sighed, but hadn’t argued. 

But clean up was finally done and they were headed to the door. Taylor looked back. 

"We'll be in the area for a bit, till I heal up a bit more. Same hotel as before. Give us a call if you need anything." Nods all around and they left. Eliot found he was disappointed to see her go. And wondering, what was behind her decision to stay in the area?

\--------

A week later, Eliot called Che.

"Sophie and Nate retired. Parker's taking over the team. You two up for a more permanent gig?"


End file.
